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\YOODBOURNE 


A  Novel  cf  the  Rsvcluticnary  Peri:!  in  Virginia 


IN    TWO    PARTS. 


BY   COIxOKSL.   JOSEPH   MAYO. 


BALTDIORE  : 

THE  BALTIMORE  PUBLISHING  COMPAXY, 

No.  171  W.  Baltimore  Street. 

1884. 


CoPY^JdTiT  18S4,  bV LCiDU)^ Eti  JosErn  Mayo. 


Presn  of  John  U.  rid  &  Co. 


dedigatiok: 


TO   COLCIIEL   EC5ERT   II.   HAYO 

izi  A'j.i'arn,    in   the    County  cf   V/estmoreland,   Yirginia), 

£3  a  Slight  Tclisn   cl   the  Author's   Gratit'a.le  Icr 

hi3  numtsrlesa  acta  oi  mere  than  Erotherly 

Kindness,  this  Yol'^ime  is  Alfes- 

tionately  Inscribed. 


Mi20  V7 


PREFACE. 


The  principal  events  recorded  in  these  pages  relate  to 
the  most  interesting  epoch  of  American  history.  The 
scene  is  chiefly  confined  to  a  little  spot  of  that  "Land 
within  the  Capes,"  which  its  first  explorer  has  described 
as  bearing  the  prerogative  over  the  most  pleasant  places 
known.  In  our  unambitious  narrative,  which  is  con- 
cerned with  the  fortunes  of  two  or  three  families,  we 
profess  to  deal  with  subjects  of  general  public  interest 
only  as  they  may  serve  to  elucidate  the  main  design. 
We  do  not  propose  to  write  a  society  novel,  nor  yet  a 
pure  romance,  nor  to  try  and  bedizen  a  prosy  array  of 
unimi)ortant  events  in  the  trumpery  garb  of  sentimental 
fancy.  Much  less  sliall  we  undertake  to  draw  an  elabor- 
ate i^icture  of  tlie  every-day  manners  and  customs  of 
the  ancient  proverbial  cavaliers  of  Virginia— cavaliers  still 
in  spite  of  the  disgust  which  some  people  affect  to  have 
for  the  name.  Yet  in  giving  to  the  American  public 
our  "poor  account  of  rich  doings,"  we  deem  it  emi- 
nently proper  to  devote  a  short  space  to  the  task  of 
correcting  some  of  the  erroneous  impressions  of  our 
fatherland  and  its  inhabitants  which  have  gone  abroad 
unchallenged  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  First  and  fore- 
most, then,    let   it    be    distinctly  aflirmed    that   the   Yir* 

(V) 


Yl  PREFACE. 

ginians  of  that  clay  were  no  more  Mr.  Thackaray's 
*' Virginians"  than  is  the  country  in  which  they  dwelt 
the  same  which  figured  in  the  chart  of  his  fruitful 
imagination.  True,  their  landed  possessions  were  in 
several  instances  as  large  as  many  a  petty  European 
principality;  and  the  owners  of  sucli  vast  domains  were, 
doubtless,  entitled  to  as  great  consideration  as  any  beg- 
garly landgrave  or  boorisli  count  palatine,  yet  it  is  a 
figment  of  prurient  fancy  to  suppose  that  these  manorial 
nabobs  all  lived  in  solitary  habitations  twenty  miles  apart 
each  from  his  neiglibor,  and  surrounded  by  savage  wild3 
where,   as  the   nursery  rhymer  says, 

"  Naked  men  in  forests  prowled, 
And  bears  and  panthers  roamed  anl  ho-wled." 

And  whatever  may  have  been  their  capacity  for  getting 
over  the  ground,  they  surely  were  not  equal  to  tlie  task 
of  performing  impossible  journeys  over  impassible  roads 
in  preposterous  yellow  vehicles,  '-carrying  six  insides." 
In  all  seriousness,  if  the  chief  merit  of  fiction  consists, 
as  Macauley  has  remarked,  in  its  resemblance  to  a  model 
with  which  we  are  already  familiar  or  to  which  we  can 
constantly  refer,  in  the  name  of  the  fairy  muse  what 
shall  be  said  of  the  incongruous  brood  of  extravagan- 
cies which  one  sees  in  the  Virginia  booth  of  Mr.  Tiiack* 
aray's  teeming  bazaar?  "Wlien  Colonel  Henry  Esmond — 
the  only  fine,  real  gentleman  who  figures  in  his  owil 
memoirs — souglit  at  once  refuge  from  villainous  company 
and  balm  and  solace  from  gout  and  ennui  amid  the 
charming  solitude  of  his  plantation  in  Virginia,  it  is  cer- 
tain   that   he    found    tlic    moral    atmosphere    of    his    nevt 


PREFACE.  yil 

abode  to  bo  a  vast  improvement  on  the  mcphitic  im- 
purities of  the  grotto-dd-cavne^  from  which  he  had  escaped 
in  a  half-asphyxiated  condition.  Here,  at  least,  he  -was 
rid  of  the  beastly  Yahoos  of  Vanity  Fair.  Ilerc  the 
unsophisticated  country  people  called  things  by  their 
given  names.  My  Lord  Mohun,  the  grand  sachem  of  the 
civilized  Mohocks,  ^vas  rated  as  a  consummate  ruffian 
and  knave,  and  the  fairest  of  the  frail  nymphs  of  St. 
Germain's  and  Soho  square  was  a  very  llecate  of  moral 
deformity  because   of  the  shame, 

"Which,  like  a  canker  in  the  frasrant  rose. 
Did  spot  the  beauty  of  her  budding  name." 

The  vot.iri^s  of  fashion,  the  roues  of  the  salon  and 
boudoir,  tlie  maccaronis  of  the  club-house  and  the  gam- 
bling den,  the  starveling  villipenders  of  Grub  street,  the 
swarms  of  seedy  political  pimps,  panders  and  prostitutes, 
were  in  their  eyes  the  same  disgusting  caricatures  of 
humanity,  whether  paraded  in  Steele  and  Addison's 
polished  periods,  or  pilloried  by  Pope  and  Swift  in 
*' Images  from  tlie  dungliill  and  lazar  house."  These 
were  the  early  and  late  associates  and  boon-companions 
of  this  courtly  clironicler  of  scandalous  small  beer,  who 
would  make  us  believe  that  half  the  women  in  England 
of  that  day  would  have  been  most  profitably  employed 
in  beating  hemp  in  Bridewell  to  make  "cravats"  for 
three-fourths  of  the  men.  The  world  he  has  described 
is  that  in  which  the  dramatic  fancy  of  Congreve  and 
Wychcrly  revelled  with  delight,  where  "the  women  were 
like  proUigate,  impudent  and  unfeeling  men,  and  where 
the  men  were  too  bad  for  any  place  but  Pandemonium 
and  Norfolk  Inland*"      "What,   after  all,   is    this    tiresome 


YlU  PREFACE. 

old  male  gossip,  but  one  of  those  "coxcomb  birds,  so 
talkative  and  grave,"  "wlio  from  his  cage  pelts  the  passers- 
by  with  ribald  words  and  sciun-y  jests? 

"Though  many  a  passenffer  he  rig-htly  call, 
We  hold  him  no  philosopher  at  all." 

"With  like  indignant  emphasis  do  we  repudiate  the  exag- 
gerated portraits  of  our  good  ancestors  which  grace  the 
galleries  of  certain  native  artists,  who  appear  to  labor 
under  the  strange  delusion  that  tlie  subjects  of  their 
delineations  spent  the  best  part  of  their  lives  in  stalking 
around  the  circle  of  stiltish,  purse-proud  arrogance,  and 
swaggering  in  a  "high-kilted"  Babylonish  dialect,  which 
out-gasconaded  Gascony.  It  is  farthest  from  the  truth, 
moreover,  to  suppose  that  the  typical  Virginian  cavalier 
found  his  only  x^leasures  in  fox-hunting  and  cock-fighting; 
carousing  in  tap-rooms,  and  wrangling  over  cards  and 
dice,  betting  at  races,  and  whispering  vapid  sentiment 
in  the  ear  of  simpering  beaut}'.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  as  exquisitely  alive  and  keenly  sensitive  as  any 
"mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mold'  to  those  lofty  impres- 
sions and  del'cate  touches  of  feeling  and  passion  which 
elevate  tlic  soul,  expand  the  intellect,  enliven  the  fancy, 
kindle  in  the  heart  the  generous  llamc  of  sympathy  and 
love,  and  strew  with  flowers  the  thorny  paths  of  life. 
And  in  the  hour  of  severest  trial,  when  Red  Battle's 
stern  alarum  rung  out  .  over  hill  and  dale,  he  approved 
himself  a  manlj-,  robust,  bold  and  independent  freeman, 
who  bared  his  bosom  to  the  howling  storm  and  recked 
not  of  danger  and  sacritice  in  his  country's  cause.  Of 
Toryism,    as    the    term    was    applied  during   tlie  Revolu- 


niEFACE.  IX 

tionary  era,  there  ^Aa3  little  or  nothing  in  this  part  of 
the  Old  Dominion.  All  classes  and  conditions  of  the  peo- 
ple were  more  nearly  united"  in  thought,  feeling  and 
purpose  than  had  hccn  the  case  in  n.ny  civil  disturbance 
previouslj-  recorded  in  English  history.  Still,  there  were 
not  a  few  among  the  wealthy  and  most  influential  plan- 
ters who  dreaded  to  cut  loose  all  of  a  sudden  from  the 
ancient  moorings  and  set  out  on  a  voyage  of  explora- 
tion "in  thick  weather  on  an  unknown  sea."  They  were 
not  able  by  a  single  eflort  to  break  the  tics,  "light  as 
air  and  strong  as  links  of  iron,"  which  bound  them  to 
the  time-honored  institutions,  hoar}'  traditions,  and  imme- 
morial usages  of  their  fathers.  They  cherished  a  fond 
veneration  of  the  aristocratic  and  monarchical  features 
of  the  constitution,  for  the  canons  of  property  and  laws 
of  descent,  for  the  wholesome  restrictions  upon  the 
elective  franchise  and  the  right  to  hold  ofTice,  and  in 
regarding  the  freedom  and  safety  of  the  subject  as  the 
origin  and  cause  of  all  laws  ;  they  nevertheless  believed 
that  the  principles  to  which  they  were  so  ardently  attached 
aflbrded  the  only  secure  bulwarks  and  muniments  of  right 
and  justice.  They  read,  with  avidity,  the  letters  of 
Junius,  and  applauded  the  burning  utterances  of  Burke 
and  Chatham;  but  they  were  not  prepared  to  receive, 
without  debate,  the  precepts  of  the  sage  of  Gunston, 
nor  to  hear  without  trepidation  the  inspired  voice  of  the 
Seer,  "whose  thunder  shook  the  Philip  of  the  Seas." 
As  hostilities  advanced,  their  minds  were  gradually 
changed,  and  they  became  in  the  end  zealous  supporters 
of  the  cause  of  American  freedom.  To  the  influence  of 
this    class — wise,    prudent,    high-minded    and    determined 


X  PEEEACE. 

men — was  mainly  due  the  anspicioriS  result  that,  in  the 
formation  of  the  Kepublic,  the  spirit  of  innovation  was 
restrained  within  the  confines  of  just  and  rational  re- 
form. 

But  our  ''prolegomenon"  is  growing  into  a  tedious  his- 
torical dissertation.  ISTot  to  make  too  sudden  a  "pull-up," 
we  take  occasion  to  repeat  that  in  the  following  pages 
we  have  striven  to  produce  a  popular  vrork  of  fiction 
which  should  be  catholic  in  si)irlt,  national  in  tone,  free 
from  sectional  and  sectarian  bias  and  prejudice,  and  con- 
taining not  a  word  or  thought,  hint  or  allusion,  of  ques- 
tionable propriety.  As  such  it  is  khidly  commended  to 
the  appreciative  consideration    of   the    American    people. 


oolsrTEisrTS 


^J^Tl^ 

CHAPTER. 

I,         - 

' 

II, 

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III,         - 

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IV, 

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V,      - 

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VI, 

- 

VII,      - 

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VIII, 

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IX,      - 

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X, 

- 

XI,      - 

- 

XII, 

- 

XIII,      - 

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XIV, 

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XV,      - 

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XVI, 

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XVII,      - 

- 

xviir, 

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XIX,      - 

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PAGE 
1 


13 
27 
40 

Gl 

73 

SO 

91 

9'J 
112 
125 
VoG 

i:3 

IGS 
1S3 
195 
200 
20G 
215 


WOODBOURNE 


s'.^:e^"i:  I. 


cnAPTErv  I 


XE  of  her  own  native  bards  has  sung  in 
mournful  numbers  the  miseries  of  "hap- 
less Caledonia,'"'  doomed  to  reap  the  bit- 
terest fruits  of  the  last  bloody  harvest  of 
internecine  strife  which  ripened  in  gory  ghastliness 
on  the  soil  of  Britain.  It  is  no  horrid  dream  of 
phrenzied  imagination,  the  tragic  picture  we  are 
gazing  upon;  but  the  frightful  reality  of  calamitous 
woe,  fell-born  progeny  of  the  grisly  demon  of  civil 
discord  and   fratricidal  rage. 

Scotland,  indeed,  was  made  to  feel  its  keenest 
pangs;  but  the  terrible  scourge  did  not  confine  its 
ravages  to  her  ill-fated  borders.  It  carried  desola- 
tion and  mourning  to  many  a  happy  English  home, 
and  everywhere  inflicted  great  gaping  wounds  on 
the  bosom  of  society,  which,  for  long  years  to  come, 
broke  out  and  bled  afresh  at  the  whisper  of  some 
name    of    hateful     memory    and     portentous    sound. 


WOODBOUKXE. 

Iliive  tliey  been  ^vholly  healed  by  the  great  physi- 
cian, Time?  For  the  sake  of  all  that  hiimauity 
holds  dear,  let  lis  so  hope  and  believe.  AVho  so 
basely  vile  aiul  malevolent  as  would  wish  to  see 
a^aiu  the  fiery  signal  of  insurrection  cast  its  bale- 
ful gleam  across  tliat  fair  liorizon,  vrhence  the 
genius  of  Christian  civilization  from  its  island 
throne  instructs  the  nations  in  the  victorious  arts 
of  Peace. 

It  is  necessary,  for  the  elucidation  of  these  pages, 
for  us  to  take  a  flying  trip  across  the  ocean.  ^Ye 
are  now  in  the  midst  of  the  beautiful  region  which 
has  been  appropriately  styled  the  Arcadia  of  Scot- 
land. The  scene  is  a  small  villa  near  the  banks 
of  Leven  Water;  and  time,  an  evening  in  the  leafy 
month  of  June,  in  the  year  1753.  It  has  been 
raining — a  passing  thunder  shower.  The  sun  lias 
just  come  forth  from  his  vapory  bath,  and  every 
bush  and  brake  is  hailing  his  reappearance  with 
warbling  pxans  of  surpassing  melody.  The  fleecy 
clouds,  all  radiant  with  prismatic  glories,  are  slowly 
trooping  towards  the  east,  and  the  last  faint  peal 
of  heaven's  artillery  reverberates  far  down  the  vale. 
On  every  twig  and  blade  of  grass  the  pearly  rain- 
drops are  sparkling  bright;  the  air  is  laden  with 
the  rich  perfume  of  blossoming  flowers;  on  the 
mountains  tlie  heatlier  blooms  v.ith  a  deeper  pur- 
l)le,  and  tlic  dimpling  wavelets  of  tlie  limpid  stream 
dance   merrily   in   the   shimmering   sunlight. 

Two  ladies  are  seated  at  an  open  wir.dovr  v,hich 
commands  a  delightful  prospect,  embracing  the  most 
bewitching  features  of  the  extensive  landscape.  One 
is  old ;    yet   tlic   frosts   of  age   have  not   chilled   her 


"WOODBOUIiXE.  6 

heart,  ^vliicli  speaks  in  the  look  of  tender  affection 
and  solicitude  with  which  she  is  regarding  her  com- 
l^anion.  Tiie  latter  lady  is  in  the  ercrly  prime  and 
loveliness  of  charming  womanhood.  Her  face  wears 
an  expression  of  sadness,  which  appears  to  be  for- 
eign to  her  natural  disposition.  She  is  resting  her 
chin  on  one  hand;  in  the  other  is  an  open  letter, 
and  htr  large,  grey  eyes,  moist  with  springing  teifrs, 
are  gazing  absently  at  the  distant  clor.d-payilioned 
crag  towards  which  the  sun  is  rapidly  declining.  To 
a  long  and  earnest  conversation,  vrhich  was  not  with- 
out painful  interest  to  the  young  lady,  there  had 
ensued  a  silence  of  some  moments'  duration.  It  was 
broken  by   the  elder  lady. 

"All  happens  for  the  best,  my  child,"  slie  said, 
meeting  an  outburst  of  disappointment  with  the 
golden  commonplace  of  old  age's  proverbial  philoso- 
phy. ^'I  was  convinced  from  the  first  that  the 
effort  would  prove  fruitless;  yet  I  did  not  try  to 
dissuade  you  from  making  it,  because  I  knew  you 
would  not  be  satisfied  until  you  had  done  every- 
thing in  your  power  to  discover  vrhat  was  your 
brother's  fate;  now  your  mind  is  at  ease  on  that 
account.  You  cannot  justly  reproach  yourself  with 
having  left  undone  anything  which  sisterly  affection 
and  duty  commanded  you  to  do,  and  you  will  soon 
forget  this  heavy  affliction  in  your  nevr  home,  amid 
untried   scenes   and   cares." 

''lu  io  impossible  for  me  ever  to  forget  it,  dear 
aunt,"  replied  the  other  lady;  "but  with  God's  help 
it  shall  not  be  the  means  of  bringing  a  single  pang 
of  unhappiness  to  others.  True,  as  you  say,  there 
is   an   end   of  my   long    cherished   hope;— this   letter 


4  WOODBOUEXE. 

assures  me  of  it;  but  I  must  beg  you  to  repeat  the 
story  over  again  as  Uncle  Leslie  heard  it  from  the 
dying  lips  of  our  cousin,  Duncan  Campbell;  I  fain 
would  impress  every  syllable  of  it  on  my  memory 
in  indellible  characters.  It  may  seem  to  be  a  weak 
and  frivolous  fancy  to  you,  and  I  am  certainly 
unable  to  explain  it;  yet  only  a  Yvitness  from  the 
grave  can  dispel  the  strange  tormenting  presenti- 
ment I  have  that  my  brother  escaped  alive  from 
that  bloody  field.'' 

"If  such  was  the  incredulous  state  of  your  mind, 
Ellen,  after  having  once  heard  Duncan's  clear  story," 
said  her  aunt,  gravely,  "  I  do  not  see  what  good 
can  come  of  worrying  yourself  with  trying  to  remem- 
ber it.  lioAvever,  you  know  best.  Perhaps  it  may 
in  time  dispel  the  wicked  illusion  which  harasses 
you  with  constant  anxiety,  and  to  gratify  you,  I 
will  relate  the  story  once  more  as  your  uncle  told 
it  to  me.  Poor  Duncan!  he  was  another  dear  vic- 
tim of  that  sinful  rebellion.  Oh,  those  wretched 
times!  how  it  makes  me  shudder  to  revive  the 
recollection  of  them.  I  must  le  brief,  my  dear,  for 
it  is  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on  this  painful  subject. 
Duncan,  as  you  are  aware,  Avas  serving  on  the  staff 
of  his  kinsman,  the  Duke  of  Argyle.  He  had  learned 
that  your  brother,  whom  he  loved  dearly,  had,  in 
a  freak  of  madness,  left  Oxford  and  enlisted  with 
the  Chevalier's  party  at  Derby;  and  all  the  time 
the  battle  was  going  on  at  Culloden  he  was  look- 
ing everywhere  for  the  miserable  boy  to  take  him 
prisoner,  believing  that  with  Argyle's  influence  there 
would  be  no  difflculty  in  getting  a  pardon  for  him. 
It   was   not   until  the   battle   was  over,  and   the  poor 


AVOODBOURXE.  5 

misguided  rebels  were  flying  in  every  direction, 
that  lie  came  upon  the  object  of  his  search.  A 
little  band  of  the  bravest  of  Charles  Edwards'  fol- 
lowers, seeing  the  day  was  lost,  had  made  a  gal- 
lant stand  in  order  to  enable  their  leader  to  make 
good  his  escape;  with  them  was  your  brother.  His 
hat  was  gone,  and  a  stream  of  blood  was  pouring 
from  a  ghastly  wound  on  his  head,  and  he  fought 
as  one  fights  who  courts  death  on  the  field  of 
battle.  Brave  boy,  alas  I  alas  I  that  he  should  have 
been  reserved  for  such  a  fate."  Aunt  Leslie  paused 
to  vripe  the  gathering  moisture  from  her  eyes,  while 
her  niece,  with  a  convulsive  sob,  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands,  as  seeking  to  shut  out  the  horrible 
scene.  "Duncan,"  resumed  the  old  lady,  "as  soon 
as  he  saw  his  cousin,  pressed  eagerly  towards  him 
through  the  thickest  of  the  fray.  Presently,  he 
beheld  him  suddenly  reel  in  his  saddle  and  fall  to 
the  ground ;  at  the  sanie  instant  he  himself  was 
struck  in  the  breast  by  tlie  fatal  bullet  and  borne 
away  lifeless,  as  was  thought,  from  the  field.  When 
he  returned  to  consciousness  he  found  himself  lying 
upon  a  pallet  of  straw  in  a  farm  house  close  to 
the  battle-ground,  and  in  the  first  words  that  he 
spoke  he  begged  them  to  go  and  search  for  your 
brother,  describing  as  Avell  as  he  could  the  spot 
where  he  had  seen  him  fall.  His  entreaties  were 
promptly  obeyed.  A  diligent  search  was  made  for 
the  body;  it  was  not  found.  Still  Duncan  was  not 
satisfied.  Next,  day,  at  his  request,  a  squad  of  men 
were  detailed  by  the  Duke's  order  to  prosecute  the 
unavailing  search,  and  when  the  officer  in  charge 
of  them,  who  was  selected  by  Duncan  himself, 
1* 


6.  WOODBOUEXE. 

reported  another  failure,  the  poor  lad  at  last 
despaired  of  ever  finding  his  unfortunate  kinsman's 
remains.  His  own  wound  was  mortal;  he  was  taken 
home,  Avhere  he  lived  only  a  short  month  more. 
In  his  dying  hour  his  mind  wandered  hack  to  the 
terrible  battlefield,  and  Henry's  name  was  the  last 
word  his  lips  were  heard  to  speak.  And  now, 
Ellen,  since  all  efforts  to  find  your  brother  have 
been  in  vain,  T\-e  are  forced  to  conclude,  after  list- 
ening to  this  circumstantial  narration,  that  he  was 
numbered  among  the  dead  on  that  woful  day  at 
Culloden  Muir.  Tell  me,  my  love,  what  did  John 
say  when   ho   heard   your   tragical   story?'' 

A  sudden  glow,  rivalling  the  tints  of  the  sky 
she  had  been  looking  upon,  mantled  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  young  lady,  and  her  tearful  eye  shone 
with  a  brightness   which   was   akin   to   rapture. 

"  Oh,  aunt ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  imagined  before 
that  I  loved  and  respected  him  with  my  whole 
heart,  but  I  never  dreamed  of  falling  at  his  feet 
and  worshipping  him  until  that  moment.  When  I 
saw  him  looking  at  me  vrith  such  an  expression 
of  love  and  sympathy  and  tender  compassion,  no 
words  can  portray.  I  could  not  help  crying  as 
though  my  heart  was  breaking,  while  all  the  time 
it  was  running  over  with  joy  and  gi'atitude.  It 
was  very  weak  and  foolish,  but  he  knew  the  cause — 
so  noble  and  good,  so  gentle  and  considerate.  Then 
■\ve  quietly  talked  it  all  over  again,  and  agreed  that 
it  was  best  for  the  happiness  of  others  that  it 
should  remain  forever  a  sealed  chapter  in  the  book 
of  our  wedded   lives." 

*'I  am  truly  rejoiced  to   hear  you   speak  of  John 


WOODBOUr.XE.  7 

in  that  Avav,  my  dear  child,"  replied  Mrs.  Leslie; 
'•he  was  always  a  great  favorite  with  nie  from  a 
boy.  You  were  rather  slow  to  consult  me,  but  he 
is  the  man  of  all  others  I  would  have  picked 
out  for  your  husband.  Yet  I  am  sadly  loth  to 
give  you  up,  for  I  know  I  shall  never  see  vou 
again  in  this  world,  you  will  be  so  far  awav.  How 
many    miles   did  John   say  it  was   to  Virginia?" 

'•'He  said  thousands,  aunt,  I  do  not  remember 
how  many;  but  I  feel  as  though  I  were  really 
going  to  live  in  a  world  which  had  nothing  in 
common  with  this.  It  gi-ieves  me  sorely  to  think 
of  having  to  part  with  you,  my  dearest  aunt — you, 
who  are  the  sole  remaining  tie  which  binds  me 
to  my  native  land.  You  must  not  then  believe  I 
ami  cold  and  unfeeling  because  I  long  to  be  quickly 
transported  to  those  scenes  I  have  never  yet  beheld, 
where  lies  my  future  home,  together  with  all  mv 
hopes  of  peaoe  and  happiness  on  this  earth.  My 
mind  is  so  constantly  employed  with  contemplating 
the  new  career  which  opens  before  me,  that  I  feel 
inspired  with  energies  and  aspirations  and  desires 
of  which  I  have  hitherto  been  unconscious.  It  is 
good  to  know  that  I  was  not  made  to  mope  and 
pine  in  indolent  apathy  and  corroding  sorrow.  There 
is  the  germ  of  real,  earnest,  strong  and  courageous 
stuff  in  my  nature^my  birthright  and  only  inher- 
itance, which,  when  transplanted  to  a  more  generous 
soil,  and  fostered  with  loving  care,  will  one  day  burst 
into  the  full  flower  of  domestic  usefulness.  Hence, 
it  is  natural  that  I  should  hail  with  exceeding  joy 
the  approach  of  the  time  appointed  for  me  to  assume 
the  dignity  and  responsibility  of  wifehood,  and  strive 


8  ^VOODBOniXE. 

to  become  as  one  wliose  ^linsband  is  knovvn  in  the 
gates  where  he  sitteth  among  the  rulers  of  the  land/ 
For  all  that,  dearest  aunt,  my  heart  is  none  the 
less  warm  for  3^ou  and  yours,  and  whatever  Iw 
may  say,  I  am  sure  there  is  no  place  in  America 
can   compare   in  beauty  with  this   lovely  spot." 

As  she  spohe  a  bird  flew  down  from  a  neigh- 
boring tree,  and  alighting  on  a  spray  of  woodbine 
close  by  the  yvindow,  carolled  forth  a  single  note 
of  enchanting  sweetness.  In  a  moment  it  was  gone. 
It  had  come  to  say  good-bye  to  the  pretty  lady, 
and  to  give  her  that  little  gem  of  song  for  a 
keepsake. 

"Xor  any  music  like  the  song  of  the  mavis,  my 
dear,"  said  Aunt  Leslie.  "Do  you  believe  John',,^ 
wonderful  tales  of  the  mocking  birds  in  Virginia  i 
But  of  course  you  do,  and  all  he  says  about  tha 
beautiful  flowers  growing  wild  in  the  woods.  Speak- 
ing of  them,  the  woods,  you  must  promise  me, 
Ellen,  not  to  venture  to  go  into  them  unless  John 
goes  with  you.  It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I 
heard  our  neighbor  Smollett  telling  of  a  little  girl, 
the  daughter  of  a  friend  who  was  living  in  Vir- 
ginia somewhere  or  Jamaica,  I  am  not  certain  wliich, 
but  it  is  all  one,  who  had  gone  out  to  hunt  for 
flowers   in   the   forest,   and — " 

"Was  murdered  and  scalped  by  the  hideous  sav- 
ages I "  cried  the  young  lady  in  a  voice  of  affected 
horror. 

"Not   so   terrible   as   that." 

"Bitten   by   one   of    those   frightful   rattlesnakes!" 

"Not  so,  either;  don't  interrupt  me,  cliild.  As 
I    was    saying,    the     girl    was     lost    in    the  woods, 


^OODBOUEInE.  9 

ani  T\'licn  tlioy  found  her,  after  looking  ever  so 
many  hours,  she  was  fast  asleep  under  a  huge  tree, 
and   her   clothes   were   literally   torn   to  tatters." 

The  effect  of  this  fearful  climacteric  shovred  that 
the  Youno;  hidv  was  not  wantins:  in  a  keen  per- 
ception   of  the  ludicrous. 

*'  Why,  aunt,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  ringing  laugh, 
which  chased  away  the  shadow  from  her  pensive 
brow,  ^'I  was  on  the  tenter-hooks  for  some  awful 
catastrophe,  and  lol  and  behold,  it  is  only  a  story 
of  one  poor  babe  in  the  woods  with  the  dear  lit- 
tle redbreasts  left  out.  Do  not  be  uneasy  on  my 
account;  the  flowers  may  ^a'  wede  away'  in  their 
native  wilds  for  me;  it  is  the  thought  of  crossing 
the  great  ocean  which  really  alarms  my  fancy,  and 
if  I  get  safely  through  the  ^  vexed  Bermoothes,' 
there  is  no  danger  of  my  being  lost  in  the  jun- 
gles of  Virginia.  But,  oh  I  aunt,  just  behold  the 
sunset;  could  anything  be  more  magnificent?  I 
shall  carry  that  away  with  me  among  my  heart's 
treasures,  and,"  she  inaudibly  added,  **the  recollec- 
tion of  the  dear,  svreet  face  which  is  turning  to 
look  at  it,  will  abide  with  me  as  a  joy  forever- 
more." 

Aunt   Leslie   was   touched. 

'•It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  sight,  my  dearest  child," 
she  fervently  responded.  ^'I  earnestly  pray  it  may 
prove  to  be  the  emblem  of  the  evening  of  a  long 
and   happy   life   to   you." 

Again  the  ready  tears  gathered  in  Ellen's  lovely 
eyes.  She  hastily  rose,  and  throwing  her  arms  about 
her  aunt's  neck,  kissed  her  affectionately;  then  she 
knelt    reverently    at    her    side.     Mrs.    Leslie    softly 


10  WOODBOURKE. 

drew  the  sweet  suppliant's  head  towards  lier  until 
it  rested  on  her  bosom,  and  raising  her  eyes  to 
heaven,  besought  its  guidance  and  protection  for 
the  lonely  orphan  Avho  Avas  about  to  tempt  the 
perils  of  the  deep,  to  find  among  strangers,  in  a 
strange  land,  the  haven  of  rest  and  happiness  she 
had  looked  for  in  vain  in  a  country  where  every 
object  she  beheld  was  tinsred  with  the  dark  hue  of 
a  sorrowful   remxembrance. 

They  had  remained  for  a  short  while  in  this 
prayerful  attitude,  when  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels 
was   heard  approaching   the   house. 

"The  gentlemen  have  returned,  Ellen,"  said  jLvs. 
Leslie,  "and  soon  the  friends  who  are  coming  to 
take  leave  of  you  vrill  be  here.  It  is  time  you 
were  dressing  for  the  parlor.  There,  dry  your  eyes, 
and  keep  the  rest  of  your  tears  for  the  hour  of 
parting.  John  will  expect  you  to  wear  your  warm- 
est smiles  to-night,  as  to-morrow  is  vour  wedding- 
day." 

The  young  lady  calmed  her  agitated  feelings  as 
promptly  as  she  could,  and  proceeded  to  comply 
with  her  aunt's  injunction.  But  before  leaving  the 
room,  she  turned  once  more  to  the  window,  and 
her  glance  lingered  in  a  last  fond  farewell  on  the 
beloved  images  of  her  girlhood's  home.  The  next 
morning  John  Graeme  and  Ellen  Campbell  were 
married,  and  ere  another  sun  had  set  they  are 
miles  away  on  their  journey  to  Glasgow,  v.'herc  the 
siiip  was  waiting  which  was  destined  to  bear  them 
safely  to  their  pleasant  home  in  the  Old  Dominion. 

Twenty  years  or  more  have  come  and  gone.  The 
good  Aunt  Leslie  has  been  gathered  to  her  fathers 
these  many   days;    but    her    prayers    liave    been    an- 


TTOODBOURXE.  11 

swered.  The  junior  partner  of  the  famous  mer- 
cantile house  of  Ballantine  &  Graeme  has  pros^x^red 
amazingly,  and  Ellen  has  found  a  home  T.hich  fills 
the  measure  of  anticipated  happiness  to  the  very 
brim.  They  call  their  house  lionhill,  in  honor  of 
jilr.  Graeme's  old  friend  and  school  fellow,  the 
author  of  Peregrine  Pickle  and  the  Ode  to  Levcn 
Water,  It  is  a  loTely  place,  and  whilst  we  do  its 
sweet  mistress  the  justice  to  state  that  she  does 
not  fail  on  occasion  to  speak  in  becoming  terms 
of  admiration  of  the  Arcadian  delights,  the  bonny 
burnsides,  the  fiowery  braes  and  fragrant  spreading 
shaws  she  left  behind  her  in  the  Land  o'  Cakes, 
she  assuredly  appreciates  none  the  less  the  glowing 
chtirms  of  this  favored  clime.  She  readily  admits 
that  the  gorgeous  splendors  of  the  autumnal  even- 
tide in  Virginia  are  enchanting  beyond  anything 
her  imagination  had  foretold,  and  that  the  mock- 
ing-bird is  a  very  marvel  of  feathered  symphony. 
As  for  the  wild  flowers,  she  argues  that  they  flour- 
ish most  bonniiy  in  their  native  j^arterres,  among 
the  rich  meadows,  the  thorny  brakes  and  bosky 
hill-slopes;  but  she  prefers  to  have  a  garden  of 
her   own, — 

And  the  jessamine  sweet,  and  the  sweet  tuberose. 
The  sweetest  flower  for  scent  that  blows, 
And  all  rare  blossoms  from  every  clime 
Grow  ia  that  gardou  ia  perfect  i^rhue. 

But  there  are  no  dusky  mountains  bristling  with 
furze  and  gorse;  no  crystal  river  warbling  over  its 
pebbly  bed,  only  the  wooded  hills  and  chalky  clifis 
of  Stratford,  and  the  placid  blue  waters  of  the 
noble  Potoma?  mirrorinc:  the  bluer  skv.    And  iu^lead 


12  WOODBOUP.XE. 

ot  the  nut-brown  lassie  trilling  her  simple  love- 
song  over  the  pail,  we  can  hear,  if  we  like,  Aunt 
Dinah's  doleful  baritone  drovrsily  crooning  some 
eldritch  catch,  as  she  lazily  plies  her  evening  care 
of  milking  the  cov^^s.  The  last  comparison,  how- 
ever, is  entirely  gratuitous,  not  to  say  impertinent. 
Mrs.  Graeme  was  happily  possessed  of  a  rare  talent 
for  music,  and  had  diligently  improved  the  gift,  and 
the  barbarous  ditty  of  milkmaid,  brovrn  or  black, 
was   harsh   discord  to   her   sensitive   ear. 

Taken  all  in  all,  the  lot  of  Ellen  Graeme  had 
been  such  as  does  not  fall  to  many  in  this  vale 
of  tears,  even  when  we  debit  the  account  of  hap- 
piness with  tlie  sorrows  and  privations  of  her  child- 
hood's years.  From  the  moment  she  set  foot  on 
the  threshold  of  her  new  home  until  now,  she  had 
known  but  one  great  affliction,  in  the  death  of  her 
oldest  child, — a  bright  little  blossom  of  three  years 
plucked  from  its  parent  stem  to  deck  the  heavenly 
bowers;  and  she  lived  to  see  the  son  and  daughter, 
with  whom  she  was  afterwards  blest,  grow  up  under 
her  watchful  eye,  and  become  all  that  a  mother's 
heart  could  desire.  Her  cup  of  rejoicing  was  then 
full,  crowned,  overflowing.  Xobly  had  she  earned  the 
sweet  reward  of  woman's  highest  earthly  ambition — • 
'  her  children  arise  up  and  call  her  blessed;  her 
husband  also,  and  he  praiseth  her."  And  John 
Graeme's  praise  was  no  holiday  compliment;  it  was 
the  constant,  free,  unstinted  offering  of  tenderest 
love  and  unfailing  sympathy.  AThile  he  did  his 
duty  to  his  neighbor  as  a  God-fearmg  man  should 
do,  and  was  in  the  truest  sense  a  fatlier  to  his 
children,  to  his  wife  he  gave  the  unmeasured  devo- 
tinn    of  his    loyal,    nianiv   heart. 


CHAPTEPv  11. 


N"  a   bright   eYening    iu    the    early    part    of 
the  month  of   Xovember,   1775,   a  gentle- 
man  on  horseback,  approaching  at   a  can- 
ter the  brow  of  the  gently  sloping   decliv- 
ity   which   overlooks    X Ferry,   drew    rein    so 

suddenly  that  he   seemed    to    have    been    riveted    to 
the   spot   by  the   wand   of  enchantment. 

Xow  we  protest,  most  ungentle  of  critics,  there 
is  nothing  in  this  simple  prologue  to  provoke  that 
derisive  ejaculation.  Go  on  with  the  story,  and  you 
will  presently  discover  that  our  cavalier  is  quite 
another  sort  of  person  from  the  hackneyed  creature 
you  are  thinking  of.  That  far  from  being  one  of 
those  fantastic  images  vrith  v\-hich  the  genius  of 
romance  has  peopled  its  realm  of  shadows,  yonder 
solitary  horseman  is  fully  endued  with  the  prop- 
erties of  mortal  flesh  and  blood,  however  much  he 
may  be  destined  to  excel  the  vulgar  herd  of  human 
kind.  Erect  and  motionless  as  a  statue,  he  could 
not  have  assumed  a  better  attitude  were  he  con- 
scious of  having  his  picture  taken  by  the  cleverest 
of  modern  photographers.  The  subject  is  worthy 
the  pencil  of  Apc41es ;  but  in  the  absence  of  the 
divine  artist,  we  will  try  our  profane  hand  at  a 
rough   and   ready   sketch. 

2  (13) 


14  WOODBOUEis^E. 

First  of  all,  it  is  evident  that  our  traveler  is 
decidedly  youthful,  as  his  cheek,  ruddy-bro^ii  from 
exposure  to  sun  and  breeze,  is  smooth  and  dim- 
pled as  a  damsel  in  her  teens,  and  his  chin  is 
innocent  of  even  the  rudiments  of  a  heard.  At  a 
venture,  one  might  say  he  T\'a3  a  little  the  rise  of 
twenty  years  old.  He  is  a  trifle  larger  than  Vnat 
would  he  thought  the  middle  size  at  his  age;  his 
form,  is  at  once  lithe,  graceful  and  compact,  and 
he  is  withal  strikingly  fair  and  comely  in  every 
feature  and  lineament,  gesture  and  glance.  For  his 
dress,  he  is  neatly  habited  in  a  fashionable  drab- 
colored  riding  suit,  tipped  off  with  plain  double 
gilt  buttons,  and  in  lieu  of  boots  his  nether  limbs 
are  enveloped  in  a  pair  of  yellow  buckskiii  leg- 
gings, which  reach  nighly  to  his  hips.  Like  proof 
of  unostentatious  refinement  is  observed  in  the  hat 
he  has  on,  which  is  entirely  divested  of  the  tawdry 
embellishments  so  profusely  worn  by  the  young 
fops  of  the  day.  Tiie  accoutrem.ents  of  his  horse, 
a  superb  bay  gelding,  meet  in  all  respects  for  so 
gallant  n  rider,  are  of  simple  and  substantial  Eng- 
lish workmanship,  without  ornament  of  any  kind. 
His  pose  is  the  perfection  of  ideal  elegance  and 
ease,  betraying  in  every  respect,  from  the  grasp  of 
the  nervous  hand  on  the  tightened  rein,  to  the 
light,  airy  touch  of  the  foot  on  the  polished  stirrup, 
a  very  prince  of  tlie  man62:e  whose  throne  is  the 
saddle.  Gathered  in  a  roll,  and  strapped  behind 
the  saddle,  is  a  blue  cloth  surtout,  and  thus  scan- 
tily equipped  it  is  easily  inferred  that  our  cavalier 
is  not  going  a  very  long  journey.  Leisure  enough, 
too,   he  seems   to    have    for    indulging    the    poetical 


WOODBOUEXE.  15 

sensations  a^.vakened  by  the  glorious  panorama  v.-liicli 
has  broken  upon  him  like  a  vision  of  fairy  land. 
And  surely  a  lovelier,  softer,  and  more  gorgeous  land- 
scape never  inspired  the  exquisite  soul  of  Italian 
art.  On  this  particular  occasion,  two  rare  circum- 
stances conspired  to  give  additional  charm  to  the 
scene.  The  evening  was  as  calm  as  an  infant's 
sleep,  so  that  the  numberless  sounds  of  rustic  music 
floated,  mellowed  and  swcglIj  modulated,  on  the 
downy  bosom  of  the  atmosphere.  Then  the  season 
had  been  unusually  mild,  and  the  fields  and  for- 
ests had  not  yet  surrendered  their  rich  treasures  to 
the  ravages  of  '•  chill  Xovember's  surly  blast " ; 
but  bedecked  in  all  the  splendor  of  their  many 
hued  liveries,  they  displayed  the  ecstatic  harmony 
of  colors  wliich  is  the  unreached  paradise  of  the 
painter's  despair.  Here  and  there  on  the  summit  of 
a  gentle  eminence  the  gable,  roof  or  other  portion 
of  a  dwelling  house  peered  forth  from  a  bowery 
of  embosoming  groves,  and  across  the  open  fields 
an  occasional  herd  of  kine  soberly  wended  their 
way  to  the  evening  fold.  Away  in  the  distance 
the  majestic  "river  of  svrans,"  its  broad  face  glow- 
ing with  delight,  was  enjoying  with  supreme  satis- 
faction   the    interval    of    unwonted    repose,    and    at 

your   feet    the    modest    little   X ,   pursuing    its 

gently  winding  way  round  headland  and  cliff, 
appeared  like  a  chain  of  silvery  lakes,  whose  bright 
mirrors  gave  back  with  enhanced  glory  the  ravish- 
ing loveliness  they  imbibed.  Over  all  this  scene 
of  varied  beauty  the  slowly  sinking  sun  of  an 
Indian  summer  spread  its  indescribable  sheen,  and 
earth    and    sky    vied    with    each    other    to   produce 


16  WOODBOUE:srE. 

such  a  masterpiece  of  jSTature's  handiwork  as  would 
have  kindled  adoration  in  the  heart  of  the  coldest 
skeptic. 

Kot  many  moments  was  our  susceptible  cavalier 
permitted  to  remain  in  rapt  contemplation  of  this 
beautiful  picture,  for  now  his  ear  has  caught  a 
familiar  sound,  that,  rising  gradually  above  the 
drowsy  hum  and  gathering  volume  as  it  approached, 
burst  all  at  once  so  clear  and  resonant  on  the 
still  air  as  to  send  the  blood  rushing  through  his 
veins  in  a  torrent  of  wild  cxliiliration.  Partaking 
the  same  enthusiasm,  the  noble  courser  gave  a 
great  bound  forvrard,  and  before  rider  could  recover 
his  seat  and  bring  the  full  force  of  the  curb  to 
bear,  was  speeding  away  in  tlie  direction  of  the 
inspiring   sound. 

Moralists  may  homilize  to  their  hearts'  content, 
but  there  is  no  enjoyment  so  intense  and  tumul- 
tuos  to  man  and  horse  as  the  intoxicating  revelry 
of  the  chase.  Checking  his  impatient  steed,  and 
galloping  back  to  his  post  of  observation,  the 
young  gentleman  reached  it  just  in  time  to  see  a 
pack  of  hounds  emerge  from  the  cover  of  the 
forest  into  a  large  field  a  short  distance  beyond  the 
river.  In  a  twinkling  they  have  crossed  it,  and 
are  again  lost  to  view  in  the  pine  thickets  which 
adorn  the  river's  edge  with  an  emerald  fringe. 
Straight  after  them,  trailing  one  behind  another, 
comes  a  party  of  fifteen  or  twenty  huntsmen.  As 
they  cross  the  plain,  most  of  those  in  rear  come 
up  on  a  line  with  the  one  in  front  and  some  pass 
him,  so  that  it  is  now  become  a  headlong  race  for 
the   prize  whicli  woodland  heroes  so  ardently  covet. 


WOODBOUKXE.  17 

Many  a  ditch,  Lotli  broad  and  deep,  traverses  the 
field,  but  these  are  easily  cleared  at  a  flying  leap 
by  the  whole  chasing  troop.  A  more  serious  obstacle 
interposes  in  the  shape  of  an  ngly  Avorm-fence, 
high  and  bristling  -with  jagged  stakes  and  unconth 
riders.  At  sight  of  this  formidable  barrier,  all  but 
two  of  the  eager  sportsmen  prudently  abate  their 
speed  and  look  about  them  for  a  safe  gap  in  the 
fence.  The  twain  more  adventurous  than  the  rest, 
or  else  having  greater  confidence  in  the  vaulting 
qualities  of  their  steeds,  keep  straight  ahead  in 
their  hurrying  career,  fierce  competitors  for  the 
honor  of  being  first  in  at  the  death.  They  are 
abreast,  though  some  paces  apart.  At  this  stage 
of  the  sport,  the  looker-on  from  the  hill  fairly 
brims  over  with  excitement;  but  it  does  not  appear, 
from  the  tenor  of  his  exclamations,  that  he  would 
have  those  two  madcaps  desist  from  their  dare- 
devil   attempt. 

"That's  I)ick  Alloway  on  the  sorrel;  but  who 
can  the  other  fellow  be?  Iso  matter;  ten  to  one 
neither  of  them  makes  the  leap.  You  and  I  could 
do  it,  old  boy,"  addressing  his  horse,  which  at  the 
moment  looked  the  image  of  a  ''fiery  Pegasus;" 
"and  we  are  the  only  pair  in  the  county.  By 
George  I   they   are   over   it.     Splendid!    splendid!" 

Sure  enough,  there  they  were,  over  the  fence  as 
clear  as  a  whistle,  and  off  like  the  wind  neck  and 
neck  for  the  woods,  into  Avhicli  they  soon  disap- 
pear. The  more  sober  gaited  of  the  party,  having 
abandoned  the  contest  for  the  prize,  follow  on  each 
according  to  his  whim.  Presently,  the  blast  of  a 
horn  announces  the    catastrophe,   and    as  its    echoes 

2* 


18  WOODBOURXE. 

die  away  along  the  liills  a  deeper  quiet  than  ever 
settles  down  npon  the  scene.  Huntsmen  and  hounds 
have  yanishcd  like  a  dream  from  sight  and  hearing, 
and  our  traveler,  recovering  himself,  replaces  the  hat 
which  he  had  snatched  from  his  head  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,  gives  the  rein  to  his  mettle- 
some steed,  and  goes  on  his  way  at  a  bounding  pace. 
Crossing  the  ferry,  a  mile  or  so  beyond  the  river, 
just  as  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  lingered  on  the 
tree  tops,  he  turned  off  abruptly  from  the  high- 
way he  was  pursuing  into  the  depth  of  a  large 
virgin  forest.  He  had  gone  but  a  short  way  in 
his  new  direction,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  noise 
which  resembled,  in  thrilling  intensity  and  pro- 
longed horror,  the  war-whoop  of  an  Indian  ravage; 
but  as  the  last  relic  of  the  interesting  race  of 
yore  had  long  ago  disappeared  from  these  once 
familiar  haunts,  of  course  the  sotmd  could  not  be 
referred  to  any  such  alarming  source.  Stopping 
his  horse,  he  sought  an  explanation  of  the  rude 
clamor  which,  judging  by  the  effect  on  his  own 
nerves,  had  so  frightened  the  peaceful  denizens  of 
the  silvan  bowers  from  their  propriety.  He  was 
not  long  in  ascertaining  that  it  proceeded  from  a 
pair  of  lusty  lungs  bawling  aAvay  at  a  song  with 
a  stentorian  gusto  which  set  at  defiance  all  the 
laws  of  melodious  concord.  The  words  of  the 
obstreperous  ditty  betrayed  the  vocalist's  zest  for 
the  noblest  of  manly  sports.  Here  is  a  specimen, 
as  near   as   we   could   come   at   the  words: 

Oil  yonder  liill  tli to   sits   a  hare, 
Oppressed  with   sorrow,   grief   cand  care, 
B.'causc  iior  prospects  are  so  bare ; 
Halloo,   bo3's,  halloo  ! 


WOODBOrRXE.  10 

Tlie  refrain  being  rendered  at  a  pitch  that  made 
the  woods  to  ring,  and  set  the  owls  to  screeching 
and  hooting  in  mocking  chorus.  It  was  this 
unearthly  diapason,  which  might  have  been  likened 
unto  the  hideous  yell  of  the  lurking  red  devil  as 
he  springs  from  his  lair,  and  the  next  moment  the 
gleaming  tomahawk  hurtles  through  the  air  and 
crashes  into  the  skull  of  the  nnsuspecting  way- 
farer. But  to  our  sprightly  cavalier  there  is  some- 
thing irresistibly  ludicrous  in  the  mixed  concourse 
of  diabolical  sounds,  and  he  greets  the  nnlooked 
for  serenade  with  a  loud  peal  of  laughter.  Then, 
as  the  lines  come  so  pat,  he  cannot  forbear  to 
shout   them   out   at  the   top   of  his   voice : 

'"Silence,   ye  wolvc?,   while  Ralph  to   Cynthia  howls, 
And  makes  illght  hideous;   answer  him,  ye   owls!" 

"In  Saint  Hubert's  name,  Dickon,  stop  your  hor- 
rible racket;  you  have  scared  the  'molly-cottontails' 
out  of  their  wits."  The  adjuration  was  addressed 
to  the  owner  of  the  enviable  lungs,  who  now 
appeared  to  view  in  the  person  of  another  horse- 
man coming  along  a  bridle-path  through  the  woods 
— a  big-boned,  strong-limbed,  young  giant  he  was, 
with  such  a  wilderness  of  light-colored  hair  about 
his  face  and  neck  that  scarcely  anything  could  be 
seen  of  his  features.  So  much  as  was  visible 
showed  extremely  prepossessing,  and  the  careless, 
free-and-easy  abandon  of  his  mien,  as  well  as  the 
merry  light  which  danced  and  sparkled  in  his 
clear,  blue  eyes,  betokened  a  heart  which  was  on 
the  best  terms  with  itself,  and  all  the  world 
beside.     He   was   encased  in   buckskin  cap-a-pie,  save 


20  -WOODBOUEXE. 

that  he  wore  the  stoutest  of  high-topped  boots  that 
ever  "skelpit  through  dub  and  mire."  A  h.irge 
silyer-mounted  horn  hung  by  a  cord  under  his 
arm,  at  his  saddle  bow  was  disphiyed  the  trophy 
which  prochdmed  him  victor  in  the  day's  hunt, 
and  a  brace  of  fixgged  and  foot-sore  fox  hounds  of 
the  genuine  ^'bhick  St.  Hubert's  breed"  limped  at 
his  horse's   heels. 

^•AYhv,  Harry,"  exclaimed  the  newcomer,  as  he 
rode  up  and  shook  the  traveler  warmly  by  the 
hand,  '-where  did  you  drop  from;  is  this  the  way 
you  keep  promises?  AVe  looked  for  you  to  join 
us   to-day  without   fail— that   was   your    word." 

"If  I  lived  and  nothing  happened,"  replied  his 
merry  companion,  whom  we  introduce  as '  young 
Henry  Carleton,  of  that  ilk.  "You  may  be  sure  it 
was  not  my  fault,  Dick,  that  I  did  not  give  you 
a  tilt  for  the  brush  I  see  you  have  there.  My 
father,  who  is  just  returned  from  Eichmond, 
detained  me  aU  morning  Avriting  letters  for  him, 
until  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  take  part  in  your 
hunt.  You  may  see  I  was  in  trim  for  the  fray," 
pointing  to   his   nether   garment. 

"Well,"  replied  Alloway,  accepting  his  friend's 
explanation,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you  all  the 
same,  tliough  you  certainly  did  miss  a  glorious 
treat— just  one  uproarious  frolic  from  beginning  to 
end;  men,  dogs  and  horses  perfectly  frantic  with 
delight,"  and  with  true  sportman's  enthusiasm,  he 
launched  forth  in  an  animated  description  of  the 
chase,   as   they  rode   on   together. 

"Oh,  I  witnessed  the  grand  closing  scene  from 
the   ferry  hill,"  said    Carleton,  interrupting   the  flow 


WOODEOUKXE.  21 

of  Somervilian  eloquence.  '-Tell  me,  t\1io  i;\-as  the 
spruce-looking  fellow  on  the  gallant  grey,  who 
seemed   to  be   pushing  you   so  hard  for  the  prize?'' 

"Pushing  me  so  hard?  You  may  well  say  that." 
replied  Alloway,  "for  if  his  horse  had  not  tripped 
over  a  hanging  vine  and  tumbled  the  fine  gentle- 
man over  its  head,  he  would  have  undoubtedly 
won  the  race  by  several  lengths.  He  wasn't  a 
bit  hurt  by  the  fall ;  but  you  should  have  heard 
him  swear  at  his  horse  in  the  most  outlandish 
gibberish,  as  if  the  poor  animal  could  help  the 
vine's  being  in  the  way.  Who  is  he  ?  That's  pre- 
cisely what  1  vrould  like  to  find  out;  none  of  the 
party  knew  anything  about  him.  He  landed  among 
us  right  out  of  the  clouds ;  pitched  like  fury  into 
the  sport  without  asking  anybody's  leave,  and  when 
it  w;i3  over  he  vanished  in  a  flash  no  one  saw 
whither.'"' 

Carleton. — "^Vhat's  he  like,  this  terrible  hobgoblin 
of  the   chase?'' 

AUoicay. — "Oh,  good  enough  looking,  for  that 
matter,  if  he  wasn't  so  infernally  black — I  don't 
mean  his  skiii,  which  is  none  of  the  fairest — his 
eyes  and  hair,  especially  his  eyes — they  looked  like 
two  great  lumps  of  charcoal  with  the  light  shining 
through  'em,  and  Jupiter!  how  the  sparks  flew  out 
of  'em  when  his  horse  threw  him — like  a  whole 
blazing  pile  of  hickory  logs  spitting  fire  all  at 
once.  One  thing  I  must  say  for  the  fellow,  he 
certainly  knows  how  to  sit  a  horse,  and  had  he 
not  shown  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  his  temper,  1 
would  have  desired  better  acquaintance,  instead  of 
leaving  him  and  his  horse  to  settle  their  little 
misunderstanding  the  best  way  they  could.''' 


22  wooDEOun:N''E. 

Carlelon. — "Xow,  you  liaye  described  an  Italian 
brigand   or  otlier  sort  of  gentienian-like  cutthroat." 

The  big  sportsman  jerked  up  his  shoulders  in 
sign  of  contempt,  and  would  have  replied,  doubt- 
less, in  a  manner  the  gesture  implied,  had  not  the 
sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  close  by  cut  short  the  col- 
loquy. At  the  same  instant  a  squirrel  came  bound- 
ing from  an  overhanging  limb  a  rod  in  front  of 
them,  and  had  barely  touched  the  ground  before  a 
stout,  half-grown  stripling  sprang  into  the  road,  gun 
in  hand,  and,  snatching  up  the  game,  held  it  aloft 
in  triumph,  his  face  betokening  the  liveliest  pleasiire. 

"Well  shot,  Archie,"  exclaimed  Alloway;  "from 
a  rest,   I'll  wager." 

"Indeed  it  was  not,  Mr.  Alloway,  it  was,  a  fair 
off-hand  shot,  and  I  did  not  see  anything  but  its 
head,  either,"  protested  the  youth,  pointing  to  the 
wound  behind  the  creature's   ear. 

"I  only  jested,"  replied  Alloway;  "it  is  not  the 
first  proof  I  have  had  of  your  marksmanship.  But 
it  is  too  late  for  another  shot;  come,  mount  behind, 
I  am  going  to  take  you   home  Avith   me." 

"Xo,  thank  you,  Mr.  Alloway,"  replied  the  lad, 
"I  have  not  been  out  on  a  regular  hunt;  I  just 
came  on  an  errand  for  father,  and  must  hasten 
back.  He  says  he  wants  you  to  come  over  early 
in  the  morning  and  attend  to*  that  little  matter  he 
spoke  to  you  about  several  days  ago;  I  suppose  you 
know  Avhat   it   is,   I   am   sure   I   do  not." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  said  Alloway;  "say  to 
your  father  that  I  will  be  on  hand  between  nine 
and  ten  o'clock,  and  be  sure  and  tell  your  mother 
it  was  my  fault  that  you  did  not  get  home  to 
supper." 


WOODBOUEXE.  23 

*'0b,  I'll  be  there  by  candle-light,"  laugliingly 
exclaimed  the  boy,  as  he  bounded  away  through 
the  woods   like   a  deer. 

"A  pretty  youth,  Dick,"  said  Carleton,  as  they 
resumed  their  journey;   "who  is  he?" 

"'The  very  question  I  was  asking  myself  for  the 
hundredth  time,"  replied  Alloway.  "Archie  is  a 
fine,  manly  little  fellow;  I  wish  I  knew  more  about 
him." 

Carleton. — "'  Xot  know  who  the  boy  is  ?  why  you 
seem  well   acquainted  with   his   father." 

Alloway. — "There's  the  quandary;  Archie  is  a  fos- 
ter-child. If  I  only  could  muster  courage  io  ask 
the  collector."' 

Carleton. — "The  collector?  Pray  what  new  riddle 
is  that,   you   incorrigible   sphinx?" 

AUoicay. — "The  collector,  the  great  exciseman,  the 
tax-gathering  plenipotentiary  of  our  Ccesar-Augustus ; 
who  else  could  it  be  but  old  Jake  Thompson,  the 
most  redoubtable   tory  inside   of  the   capes." 

Carleton. — "I  have  frequently  heard  of  the  eccen- 
tric !Mr.  Jacob  Thompson,  but  not  by  that  for- 
midable  designation." 

Alloicay. — "And  you  never  heard  how  he  earned 
the  title?  Ah,  I  remember,  you  were  at  college 
when  it  happened.  Mr.  Leo  was  addressing  a  large 
gathering  of  the  rebellious  clans  at  the  court  house, 
when  Mr.  Thompson  suddenly  burst  in  among  the 
crowd,  boiling  over  with  indignation.  He  called 
the  speaker  a  vile  incendiary,  traitor,  demagogue, 
and  the  like,  and  warned  the  people  not  to  listen 
to  his  seditious  harangue.  Parliament,  he  said,  not 
only   had   the   riglit   to   tax   them,   but  ought   to  tax 


24  WOODBOrEifE. 

them  till  tliey  groaned;  it  -sA'as  a  glorious  privilege 
to  pay  tribute  to  such  a  beneficent  government, 
and  if  his  blessed  majesty  ^vould  only  make  him 
collector-general  of  his  dominions  in  America,  he 
would  teach  his  refractory  subjects  a  lesson  of 
obedience  to  lawful  authority  they  would  not  forget 
in  a  hurry.  The  irate  gentleman  soon  discovered 
that  he  was  in  the  wrong  pew;  he  was  hustled 
out  amid  a  storm  of  yells  and  hoots,  and  it  was 
as  much  as  Ave  could  do  to  keep  the  populace 
from  giving  him  a  chairing  after  the  vulgar  fashion. 
From  that  day  he  has  been  known  by  a  variety 
of  nicknames,  all  indicating  the  supreme  object  of 
his  loyal  ambition.  Here,  everybody,  down  to  the 
school-boys,  calls  him  Collector  Thompson,  and  far 
from  resenting  their  familiarity,  he  actually  glories 
in  the  popular  recognition  of  his  zeal  in  his  royal 
master's  service.  Once  in  a  while  he  breaks  out 
and  ramps  and  raves  like  all  bedlam  let  loose;  but 
take  him  right,  you  will  find  him  to  be  at  bot- 
tom a  very  good  kind  of  an  old  heathen — doesn't 
bear  a  particle  of  malice,  and  is  openhanded  and 
honest   as   the   day." 

Carldon, — "Bat  what  has  the  old  tory  to  do 
with  the  boy?" 

AUoway. — "Everything — he  and  his  wife.  Having 
no  children  of  their  own,  they  have  adopted  Archie; 
but  where  they  picked  him  up,  I  have  not  the 
remotest  idea." 

CarUton. — "Another  Tom  Jones  in  embryo,  very 
likely.  Come  now,  Dick,  who  do  you  suppose  the 
wild  huntsman  to  be;  for  to  me,  he  is  a  more 
interesting  per.^onage  than   your   little   foundling.'' 


^VOODBOURXE.  25 

Anotiier   pronounced   shrug  -was   all   the   repl3\ 

Carleton. — ^'A  brave  set  of  fellows,  truly;  twenty 
of  you  to  one  poor  forlorn  foreigner,  and  not  one 
]uid  the  courage  to  ask  him  a  civil  question.  How 
I   wish  I  had   been  there." 

Alloiuay. — "What  would  you  have  done?  most 
puissant  imp   of  valor." 

CarUion. — "AVhat  would  I  have  done?  AVliy,  first 
of  all,  I  would  have  gone  to  the  relief  of  the  dis- 
comfited unknown  cavalier  and  helped  him  to 
remount;  next,  I  would  have  felicitated  him,  in  a 
delicate  way,  on  his  superb  horsemanship,  and  ten- 
dered him  the  prize,  which  an  untoward  accident 
deprived  him  of;  and,  in  fine,  I  would  have  gen- 
early  dispensed  him  the  hospitable  treatment  which 
is  due  to  a  stranger  and  a  gentleman — common 
politeness,  nothing  more.  Suppose  now,  this  terri- 
ble person  should  turn  out  to  be  what  I  verily 
suspect  he   is — '' 

"Xo  more  of  thai,  Hal,  an'  thou  lovest  me," 
exclamied  Alio  way,  retreating  behind  an  apt  quota- 
tion. "And  since  you  speak  of  politeness,  I  am 
reminded  to  say,  welcome  to  Woodbourne,  if  you 
have  been  all  this  while  paying  me  that  long 
promised  visit." 

"  There,  again,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  not  to 
blame,"  replied  Carleton.  "It  was  impossible  for 
me  to  leave  home  while  my  father  was  absent  on 
that  plagucy  Indian  business ;  and  ever  since  he 
came  back  lie  has  had  me  constantly  at  work  in 
the  fourfold  capacity  of  scribe,  amanuensis,  con- 
fidential secretary,  and  general  factotem.  I  am  only 
this  moment  relieved  of  my  multifarious  task;  my 
.    3 


20  AVOODBOURIsE. 

luggage  is  on  the  way,  and  you  are  not  going  to 
be  rid   of  me   for  some   days." 

"Only  stay  until  you  -wear  your  welcome  out, 
and  I  will  overlook  past  transgressions,"  replied 
Alloway,   in   liis   liearty   manner. 

By  this  time  they  had  gotten  clear  of  the  for- 
est, and,  passing  througli  a  gateway  which  opened 
upon  a  wide  lawn,  were  approaching  a  large  and 
comely  mansion,  half  hidden  in  a  tuft  of  sheltering 
trees,  and  perched  npon  the  summit  of  what,  in 
that  country,  was  regarded  as  a  somewhat  ambi- 
tious knoll.  This  was  Woodbourne,  the  goodly  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Pilchard  Austin  Alloway,  where  he 
maintained,  with  a  very  bad  grace,  it  was  said,  his 
present  reign   of  solitary  grandeur. 


CIIAPTEP.    III. 


rJCHAED    ALLOWAY'S 

n   Austin.     The   founder   of 


mother  vras 
the  Virginia 
f.imilj  of  that  name  ^as  the  younger  son 
of  a  younger  brother,  Trho  appears  to  have 
drifted  hither  toAvards  the  close  of  the  seventeentli 
century.  At  an  early  period  of  his  life  he  set 
out  from  Kent  County,  England,  to  seek  his  for- 
tune ^-heresoever  he  could  find  it,  and  in  his  case 
the  proverb  of  the  rolling  stone  received  a  flat 
contradiction.  Ilis  various  enterprises  on  land  and 
sea  met  v^ith.  unvarying  success,  and  he  rapidly 
accumulated  a  considerable  store  of  wealth.  Jamaica 
was  the  last  field  of  his  commercial  operations. 
Thence    he    removed    to   Virginia,   having  previously 


to  Virginia,  hav 
invested  the  bulk  of  his  large  means  in  land  and 
negro  slaves.  He  now  abandoned  mercantile  pur- 
suits, and  became  a  planter  of  magnificent  propor- 
tions. From  this  description,  it  is  easy  to  infer 
that    Mr.    Eichard    Austin    the     elder    was    one    of 


those 


;o]id   men   of   whom    the   saw,    ''Better  to  be 


born  lucky  than  rich,"  was  written,  and  who,  in 
all  the  mutations  of  human  affairs,  never  lose  sight 
of  the  main  chance  nor  let  go  an  opportunity  to 
turn    an    honest    penny.     Had    he     devoted    himself 


28  vrOODBOUE2>^E. 

body  and  soul  to  the  service  of  Mammon,  he 
would  in  all  probability  have  become  the  reignmg 
monarch  of  Change  Alley,  and,  dying,  left  a  pile  in 
the  funds  for  executorial  "rooks,  committee  men 
and  trustees,"  to  squander  in  contingent  fees  and 
incidental  expenses,  to  say  nothing  of  fat  salaries  to 
countless  dispensers  of  infinitesimal  benefactions  to 
the  widow  and  fatherless.  0,  blind  heaper-up  of 
the  shining  hoard,  why  should  you  be  so  much 
concerned  about  the  disposition  of  your  toilsome 
gains  when  you  yourself  shall  have  been  hutched 
in  the  insatiable  grave?  AVhat  difference  v;ill  it 
make  in  the  general  account  of  human  liappiness 
whether 

To  heirs  unknown  descends  the  unguarded  -store, 
^^     Or  wanders,   Heaven  directed,   to  the  poo:? 

It  was  Richard  Austin's  son  a\'1io  designed  the 
capacious  dwelling  that  erstwhile  looked  down  in 
stately  pride  from  the  crest  of  yonder  sedgy  knoll, 
and  of  which  naught  remains  to  tell  the  tale  save 
a  crumbling  heap  of  bricks  and  mortar,  and  the 
charred  end  or  two  of  ^  a  beam  or  rafter.  It  was 
burned  by  the  British  in  the  war  of  181^2,  one  of 
the  many  similar  acts  of  vandalism  of  which  tlic 
locality  retains   the  proof   to  this   day. 

Mr.  John  Austin  was  liberally  educated  at  the 
best  schools  in  England,  obtained  a  degree  at 
Oxford,  and  received  the  extra  polishing  of  the 
grand  Continental  tour.  That  he  made  the  most 
of  his  opportunities  is  evident  from  the  fact,  that 
had  he  not  been  a  man  of  rare  talents  and  acquire- 
ments,  he   could   not    possibly   have    attained    to   the 


TTOODBOURiCE.  29 

honors  he  in  after  years  enjoyed,  having,  at  different 
times,  been  a  member  of  Conncil,  sat  several  ses- 
sions in  the  House  of  Burgesses,  and  filled,  as  long 
as  he  desired  it,  the  responsible  office  of  Presiding 
Justice  and  High  Sheriff  of  the  county.  Under 
his  forming  hands  AVoodbourne  blossomed  as  a  rose 
in  the  T\-ilderness,  and  displayed  in  every  feature 
the  evidences  of  a  cultivated  mindc  and  refined 
taste.  To  this  day  the  name  recalls  Tvhatever  of 
elegant  ease,  solid  comfort  and  social  pleasure  found 
an  abode  -^vithin   ^-the  ancient,   hospitable  hall 

Whose  vaulted  roof   once  rung  to  harmless   minis : 
Where  every  passuig  stranger  was  a  guest, 
And  every  guest   a  friend." 

For  all  that  the  house  had  its  skeleton.  Here, 
as  everywhere,  the  stream  of  happiness  was  "the 
torrent's  smoothness  ere  it  falls  belovr."  This  pic- 
ture of  joy  and  gladness  could  not  last  for  the 
brief  space  of  one  man's  life,  and  the  last  diiys  of 
Mr.  John  Austin's  career  on  earth  repeat  the  sad, 
sad  story  of  the  vanity  of  human  wishes.  He  had 
but  one  son,  the  youngest  of  seven  children,  and 
although  he  was  far  from  wanting  affection  for 
his  daughters,  the  boy  had  been  the  principal 
object  of  his  pride  and  care.  The  good  dominie 
Avho  held  the  station  of  private  tutor  in  the  fiimily 
was  not  permitted  to  have  exclusive  control  of  his 
pupil's  training.  The  fond  father  devoted  every 
leisure  moment  to  the  gi-ateful  task,  and  deemed 
himself  abundantly  rewarded  for  his  diligent  pains. 
The  boy  was  sprightly,  apt  and  ambitious  to  learn, 
and  not   only   did    he   m.aster  with    ea^e   the   lessons 

3* 


30  WOODEOURXE. 

which  were  assigned  him,  but  by  the  time  he  was 
seyeiiteen  years  okl  he  had  read  through  every  book 
of  travel,  history  and  polite  literature  in  his  lather's 
well-stored  library,  and  thus  acquired  an  amazing 
deal  of  miscellaneous  information.  Vvlth  these  advan- 
tages he  was  sent  to  the  college  at  ATiliiamsburg, 
and  it  Avas  intended,  when  he  had  taken  the  course 
there,   he   should  complete   his   studies  abroad. 

In  the  bright  annals  of  the  Old  Dominion  there 
is  no  name  of  purer  lustre  than  that  of  Commis- 
sary Blair,  the  pioneer  of  letters,  to  whom  belongs 
the  imperishable  honor  of  having  erected  a  temple 
where  all  the  wisdom  of  the  old  world  Egyptians 
could  be  had  without  encountering  the  jierils  and 
cost  of  a  double  voyage  across  the  ocean.  His 
darling  foster-child  was  now  grown  to  be  a  flourish- 
ing seminary  of  science  and  literature.  In  another 
decade  it  became  the  prolific  nursery  of  republican 
*?enius,  the  fountain  to  vrhich  the  brightest  intel- 
"\ects  of  the  colony  repaired,  and  '-'in  their  golden 
urns   drew  light." 

Thoroughly  accoutred  by  previous  careful  prepa- 
ration, Iiichard  Austin  enlisted  with  the  fairest 
auspices  in  the  earnest  and  jealous  contests  of  his 
new  arena.  Among  his  associates  were  a  score  of 
ardent  competitors,  all  eager  to  endure  the  suffo- 
cating heat  and  dust  of  the  Olympic  course  to 
win  the  victor's  crown  of  glory.  Xaturally,  his 
disposition  was  the  most  amiable  and  gentle;  he 
was  ingenuous,  frank  and  warm-hearted  to  a  fault, 
and  the  current  of  his  feelings  and  affections 
usually  flowed  in  a  strong,  even  and  pellucid  clian- 
neh      AVhilst    he    was    a    general    favorite    with    his 


T\'OODBOURXE.  31 

fellow-students,  lie  had  especially  singled  out  one 
among  the  number  for  his  warmest  and  most  inti- 
mate regard,  and  this  attachment  gradually  ripened 
into   a  friendship   passing  the   love   of   women. 

The  session  was  drawing  to  a  close;  the  final 
examinations  were  close  at  liand,  and  the  candi- 
dates for  the  various  badges  of  merit  vied  with 
each  other  in  nnremitting  application  to  their 
absorbing  duties.  Foremost  in  the  generous  race 
were  Eichard  Austin  and  his  friend,  Reginald 
Aubrey,  twin  stars  in  the  galaxy  of  academic  dis- 
tinction. In  the  midst  of  the  animated  contest,  a 
marked  change  was  observed  in  Richard's  deport- 
ment; he  grew  suddenly  morose  and  cynical, 
neglected  his  books,  and  went  moping  about  in  soli- 
tary despondency.  One  evening,  while  the  spell 
was  on  him,  he  was  crossing  the  college  campus, 
where  a  number  of  students  were  playing  at  cricket, 
when  one  of  them  thoughtlessly  accosted  liim  in 
what  he  conceived  to  be  an  insulting  and  jeering 
manner.  Instantly  he  stooped,  and,  seizing  a  large 
stone,  threw  it  with  all  his  strength  at  the  offender's 
head.  The  deadly  missile  flew  harmlessly  past 
the  mark  at  which  it  was  aimed,  to  find  a  dearer 
victim,  and  striking  poor  Auljrey  full  upon  the 
temple,  felled  him  to  the  earth.  The  blow  was 
fatal.  Let  us  not  linger  on  the  harrowing  story. 
The  anguish  and  remorse  of  the  unhappy  young 
man  were  terrible  beyond  description;  and  when 
his  father  came  to  take  him  home,  his  sorrowful 
companions  could  scarcely  recognize,  in  the  stony 
image  of  voiceless  and  tearless  woe  around  which 
they    stood    weeping,    a    trace    of    the    once    light- 


32  WOODEOUEXE. 

hearted  leader  of  tlieir  sportive  pastimes,  and  many 
vrondered  if  it  yrere  not  better  to  be  "^^dtli  him 
v.-liom  they  had  tenderly  L^.id  to  rest  in  the  silent 
grave.  Ah,  could  he  have  ^vhispered  one  little 
word,  or  had  he  even  smiled  in  his  sleep  when 
the  cry  of  wild,  despairing  agony  burst  from  the 
wu'etched  form  that  bent  over  him  as  he  lay  so 
cold  and  still  upon  the  ground!  Alas!  there  V\'as 
no  solacing  remembrance — no  transient  gleam  of 
compassion— no  drop  of  healing  balm  in  the  over- 
flowing cup  of  hopeless  misery.  Like  a  plummet 
the  soul  of  Eeginald  Aubrey  dropped  into  the 
ocean  of  eternity,  and  from  that  moment  Richard 
Austin   was   rarely  ever   seen  to   smile. 

Thus  it  happened  that  one  flash  of  an  angry 
spirit  had  kindled  a  fire  vrhich  consumed  to  ashes 
as  fair  a  temple  as  was  ever  fashioned  by  skill 
divine.  0,  wretched  man,  voyager  on  life's  uncer- 
tain main,  be  not  beguiled  into  false  security  because 
the  sea  is  calm  and  the  stars  are  shining  brightly 
over  your  head.  In  calm  and  storm  alike  be  ever 
watchful  and  circumspect.  To  the  wary  pilot  the 
ripple  on  the  glassy  surface  gives  vrarning  of  the 
jagged  reef  that  lurks  below.  Let  that  strong 
hand  for  an  instant  loose  its  hold  upon  the  helm, 
and  the  frail  vessel  which  bears  your  soul's  eternal 
fortunes  is  engulphed  in  the  yavrniug  deep,  or 
drifts,  a  shattered  and  helpless  vrreck  on  the  bosom 
of  the  remorseless  wave.  Beware!  beware!  or  else 
learn,  v/hen  it  is  too  late,  that  to  the  mind  which 
is  not  already  callous  grovrn  in  sin  there  may 
come  an  anguish  which  cannot  be  vrcaried  down, 
a  pang  which   cannot   be   assuaged. 


AVOODBOURXE.  33 

For  weeks  the  grief  of  Eichard  Austin  was 
excessive,  and  manifested  itself  in  sncli  fearful  con- 
vulsions that  his  fatlier  inwardly  prayed  for  death 
to  come  and  release  him  from  suffering.  At  length 
these  violent  paroxysms  ceased  entirely,  and  were 
succeeded  by  another  form  of  malady,  less  poignant 
in  the  excruciatinsr  torture  of  the  body,  but  dis- 
tressing  beyond  measure,  inasmuch  as  it  foreshad- 
owed the  vrorst  calamity  Avhich  could  befall  the 
unhappy  youth.  He  sunk  into  a  deep,  pervading, 
listless  melancholy ;  a  thick,  impenetrable  pall  of 
gloomy  dejection  shrouded  his  whole  being;  it  was 
the  acme  of  the  misery  which  "rejoiceth  exceed- 
ingly, and  is  glad  when  it  can  find  the  grave." 
Hour  after  hour  he  sat,  silent  and  motionless, 
gazing  on  vacancy,  and  when  he  was  with  difficulty 
pursuaded  to  move  at  all,  he  walked  with  uncer- 
tain and  tottering  steps,  as  one  whose  senses  Avere 
completely  dazed  and  Avho  had  lost  the  faculty  of 
volition.  The  family  physician  now  gravely  shook 
his  head,  and  frankly  confessed  that  h'.s  patient 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  any  remedy  he  possessed. 
There  was  but  one  recourse  left,  he  said,  which 
promised  a  chance  of  success.  He  had  known  a 
change  of  air  and  scene  to  prove  efficacious  in 
similar  disorders  after  the  ordinary  appliances  of 
medical  skill  had  been  exhausted  in  vain.  The 
advice  vras  taken.  To  his  father's  great  joy,  Eichard 
yielded  readily  to  his  entreaties,  and  they  set  out 
on  a  voyage  to  England.  The  result  showed  the 
value  of  Dr.  Harrington's  prescription.  The  trip 
across  the  ocean  of  itself  wrought  a  miracle  of 
cure,   which    Mr.    Austin    had    not    dared    to    hope 


34  WOODBOUEXE. 

for;  there  was  a  precious  elixir  in  tlie  far-sweeping 
breezes  unknown  to  Imman  science,  and  when  they 
reached  their  destination  Eichard  was  so  far  restored 
to  health  as  to  evince  a  lively  interest  in  the  nn ac- 
customed sights  and  scenes  around  him.  In  a  little 
Avhile  the  cloud  which  hung  upon  his  mind  sloAvly 
lifted  and  floated  away,  and  the  light  shone  out 
again.  But  not  with  the  radiance  of  its  early 
beams.  It  was  no  longer  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
sparkling  with  myriad  hues  of  ever-changing  bright- 
ness; but  a  soft,  dreamy  and  subdued  influence  of 
moon  and  stars,  as  of  a  halo  from  another  world. 
The  beautiful  visions  of  life's  morning  march,  the 
glowing  aspirations  for  worldly  fame  and  rewards, 
the  fairy  forms  and  fantasies  of  young  desire,  each 
object  of  passionate  love  and  eager  anticipation, 
vrhich  had  imparted  energy  and  animation  to  his 
heart,  appeared  through  the  mystic  drapery  of  that 
serene  shadowy  twilight  of  the  soul,  like  an  unsub- 
stantial pageant  fast  fading  from  sight.  The  old 
vivacity  and  humor,  tlie  bounding  pulse,  the  elastic 
step,  the  gay,  soaring  spirit  were  gone,  and  instead 
of  these  was  a  quiet,  sedace,  earnest  ^nd  contem- 
plative demeanor,  as  if  the  mind  was  constantly 
occupied  vrith  dark  communings  on  subjects  of 
everlasting  import.  This  was,  indeed,  the  very  crisis 
of  his  fate.  A  deadly  blight  had  fallen  upon  his 
prospects  and  fame.  He  had  no  pleasure  in  the 
diversions  Avhere  happiness  is  usually  sought.  His 
heart  vras  a  fountain  of  bitter  waters,  and  despair 
presented  its  poisoned  chalice  to  his  lips.  But 
thanks  to  his  early  complete  religious  training,  he, 
in  this   supreme   moment  of  mortal  agony,  turned   a 


WOODBOUEXE.  35 

ueaf  ear  to  the  voice  of  the  tempter,  and  taking  np 
his  heavy  cross  bore  it  ^vith  unmurmuring  patience 
to  the  end. 

Eichard  Austin  had  remained  abroad  scarcely  a 
year,  "^hen  he  vras  summoned  home  by  the  ilhiess 
of  his  father.  Here  he  arrived  in  time  to  close 
the  d}ing  eyes  of  his  only  parent,  and  a  fevr 
months  afterAvards  he  Tvas  called  upon  to  perform 
the  same  sad  task  in  the  case  of  the  unmarried 
oldest  sister,  Tvho  had  been  to  him  from  infancy 
in  the  place  of  the  mother  he  had  never  seen. 
Of  his  remaining  sisters,  Mrs.  .Alloway  alone  resided 
in  the  vicinity  of  Woodbourne;  the  others  -were  scat- 
tered far  and  v;ide  over  the  colony.  All  of  them 
were  happily  married,  and  did  not  require  his  aid 
and  protection.  So,  having  arranged  his  affairs,  and 
given  all  needful  instructions  to  his  overseer,  he 
locked  up  the  house,  handed  the  key  to  the  faith- 
ful old  butler,  and  once  again  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
this  time  to  become  an  aimless  and  solitary  wan- 
derer in  foreign  lands.  He  left  an  address  with 
Mrs.  Alloway  vrhere  letters  would  reach  him,  but 
he  did  not  answer  one  of  the  many  which  she, 
with  true  sisterly  affection,  continued  to  write  all 
the  same  as  though  he  had  been  the  most  punc- 
tual of  correspondents. 

Years  rolled  by,  and  still  no  tidings  came  from 
him,  nor  could  the  persistent  inquiries  of  the  friends 
who,  from  time  to  time,  visited  Europe  discover  the 
faintest  trace  of  his  footsteps.  His  secret  was 
known  to  but  tvro  bosoms,  by  whom  it  was  held 
in  tlie  close  embrace  of  professional  confidence — that 
of    the   old   hnvver  who   had    been   his   father's   most 


36  WOODBOURNE. 

intimate  friend  and  counsellor  in  his  private  and 
public  affairs,   and  of  liis   agent   in   London. 

Mrs.  Alloway  Tvent  regularly  to  AVoodbourne  four 
or  five  times  a  year  to  make  a  tliorough  inspection 
of  the  premises,  and  especially  to  see  tbat  the 
flowers  were  properly  cared  for,  and  the  fruit  trees 
did  not  suffer  for  want  of  pruning.  To  her  the 
old  place  was  always  home,  and  nowhere  else  did 
the  roses  and  dahlias  bloom  so  gorgeously,  nor  the 
plums  and  apricots  hang  with  such  tempting 
lusciousness.  On  these  visits  she  was  accompanied 
by  the  children,  in  whose  eyes  grandfather's  house, 
as  they  called  it,  was  a  miracle  of  magnificence, 
which  laughed  Aladdin's  palace  to  scorn.  What  a 
merry  sight  it  was,  to  see  these  little  elves  drop 
suddenly  from  the  clouds,  and  put  to  rout  the 
legions  of  grim  spectres  lurking  there  in  that 
sombre  and  forsaken  abode.  How  they  scampered 
through  the  house,  chased  around  the  lawn, 
tumbled  over  the  flower-beds,  climbed  the  cherry 
trees,  swung  upon  the  garden  gate,  ransacked  the 
poultry  yard,  performed  every  imaginable  mischiev- 
ous antic,  and  raised  such  a  din  about  the  cars  of 
Vncle  George  Hamilton,  the  sable  factotum  in 
charo-e,  that  he  wished  them  a  thousand  times  in 
Jericho,  and  wondered  what  Miss  Jane  could  have 
been  thinking  about  to  fetch  them  there  to  "towse 
and  mummock  things  to  pieces  that  sort  o'  way." 
But  Miss  Jane  did  not  pay  the  slightest  attention 
to  the  grand  airs  of  her  brother's  prime  minister, 
and  the  children  gamboled  on  in  unrebuked  glee- 
fulness. 

Master   Ttichard  Austin  Allowav  was   now  a   great. 


"WOODBOURXE.  37 

gawky,  hobble-de-hoy  urchin,  with  a  freckled  face, 
a  tangled  shock  of  sandy  hair,  a  small  flock  of 
goslings  in  his  voice,  and  a  superabundance  of 
good  humor  and  animal  spirits.  lie  had  learned 
to  ride  and  shoot,  to  fish  and  hunt,  and  to  swim 
like  a  duck,  to  bridle  a  three-year  old,  and  break 
him,  too,  to  worm  a  dog,  and  phlegm  a  horse — in 
a  word,  he  was  a  very  prince  of  the  tribe  of 
Ximrod,  and  the  Admirable  Crichton  of  rustic 
accomplishments.  Of  the  nectared  sweets  of  learn- 
ing, he  does  appear  to  have  been  particularly  fond, 
being  like  other  truants  given  to  exclaim,  jam  satis, 
before  tcstins:  the  fact  whether  crude  surfeit  reimed 
in  repletion.  In  Latin,  Ciesar's  bridge  was  an  ever- 
lasting stumbling  block,  and  as  for  Greek,  the 
very  alphabet  was  the  quintessence  of  foolishness. 
But  although  he  was  not  on  speaking  terms  with 
the  heroes  of  Homer  and  A'irgil,  lie  was  well  up 
in  English  history,  and  had  by  heart  the  -entire 
catalogue  of  British  celebrities,  from  Boadicca,  war- 
like queen,  to  Captain  James  Cook,  the  latest  won- 
der of  the  world.  Moreover,  he  knew  perfectly  well 
that  the  world  was  round  like  a  ball,  and  not  flat, 
like  a  pan-cake;  that  the  old  turn  and  turn  about 
theory  was  all  gammon,  and  that  the  earth  revolved 
on  its  own  "axle-tree"  once  in  twenty-four  hours, 
and  circumgvrated  round  the  sun  in  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days  and  a  fraction  over,  which 
explained  all  about  night  and  day,  and  winter  and 
summer,  and  led  to  the  invention  of  the  mariner's 
compass  and  the  discovery  of  America  I  Add  to 
the  list  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  exploits 
of     "Jack-the-Giant-Killer,"     the     Avonders      of     the 

4 


38  WOODBOURKE. 

^'Arabian  Xights/'  the  adventures  of  ^■Eobinsoii 
Crusoe,"  and  such  knowledge  of  the  Episcopal  cate- 
chism as  a  pious  mothers  unremitting  care  did  not 
fail  to  supply,  and  this  inventory  of  Master  Dick's 
then   acquirements   is   well   nigh   complete. 

The  fields  and  forests  of  Woodbourne  were  a 
favorite  resort  of  this  young  poacher,  and  if,  which 
was  rarely  the  case,  he  did  not  succeed  in  filling 
his  game-bag,  he  was  sure  to  comxC  back  with  his 
pockets  groaning  with  the  spoils  of  the  orchard. 
There  were  no  interdicted  preserves  in  this  part  of 
the  colony,  and  the  sportsman  vras  free  to  roam 
and  ravage  at  Vfill;  yet  there  was  an  illusion  of 
forbidden  pleasure  to  Eichard  in  thus  trespassing 
on  liis  uncle's  domain,  from  the  fact  that  it  was 
highly  displeasing  to  the  august  functionary  we 
have  spoken  of,  who  looked  upon  it  as  an  offence, 
nothing  short  of  Jcze  majcstie  to  shoot  a  squirrel 
in   the   gum-spring    woods! 

One  day,  tovrards  the  end  of  the  month  of  Octo- 
ber, 1770,  Eichard  had  started  with  his  gun  and 
dog  on  one  of  these  predatory  excursions  to  "Wood- 
bourne,  saying,  as  usual,  that  they  might  not  look 
for  him  before  supper  time.  He  had  been  gone 
but  a  few  hours,  v.hen  he  came  hurriedly  back  in 
a  great  fli^.rry  of  excitement,  and  startled  his  mother 
with  the  intelligence  that  he  had  seen  a  strange 
person  walking  on  the  \\x\\\\,  and  had  stood  and 
watched  him  ever  so  long,  and  saw  him  go  across 
to  the  graveyard  and  pull  one  of  the  flowers  she 
said  nobody  was  to  touch,  and  hov/  he  was  dressed 
in  a  rich  suit  of  black  velvet  and  walked  witli  a 
cane,   and   seemed   to   be   weak   and   lame,  and — well. 


WOODBOUr.i^E.  39 

that  was  all.  He  had  run  every  step  of  the  ^'ay  to 
let  her  know  about  it.  AYho  could  the  stranger 
be? 

^•'Your  o^vn  dear  uncle,  my  son/'  replied  the  good 
lady,  warmly  embracing  the  bearer  of  the  joyful 
news.  "There,  run  and  order  the  carriage  to  be 
brought,  and  send  some  one  for  your  father."  And 
in  the  next  hour  Mr.  Alloway  and  his  wife  were 
rolling  rapidly  along   the  road    to   "Woodbourne. 

To  the  desolate  wanderer  the  meeting  was  unspeak- 
ably affecting,  and  he  wept  and  sobbed  on  his 
sister's'  breast  in  a  wild,  passionate  ^ay,  which 
showed  how,  in  ail  the  days  of  his  dreary  pilgrim- 
age, his  heart  was  ever  yearning  for  that  one  touch 
of  heavenly  sympathy.  Where  he  had 'been,  what 
he  had  been  \loing,  and  how  he  had  fared,  none 
ever  heard  the  whole  story  from  his  lips.  He  sel- 
dom referred  to  his  personal  adventures,  and  seemed 
to  regard  whatever  had  befallen  him  as  of  no  con- 
sequence to  the  rest  of  the  world.  There  was 
neither  affectation  of  indifference  nor  ill-natured 
reticence  in  this  enforced  silence;  only  the  weari- 
ness of  melancholy  dejection,  and  blank,  unfathomed 
desolation  of  heart.  Xot  a  murmur  of  complaint 
nor  symptom  of  impatience  escaped  him  in  word 
or  gesture;  still,  the  bent  form,  the  tottering  gait, 
the  worn  and  weary  look,  and  wan  and  wasted 
features,  these  told  their  eloquent  tale  of  sorrow 
and  suffering,  and  shoAved  that  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places  the  ceaseless  horror,  "fell  tyi'ant  of  the 
throbbing  breast,"  held  its  victim  bound  with  an 
iron  chain.  Every  trace  of  angry  passion  and  cyn- 
ical emotion  had  departed;  he  was  now  all  gentle- 


40  WOODBOUEXE. 

ness  and  patiencG  and  holy  resignation,  watching 
and  waiting  for  the  joyful  summons  v;hich  would 
call  the  grief-burdened  soul  to  its  appointed  rest. 
Such  was  his  appearance  to  the  observant  eyes  of 
his  affectionate  sister,  when  the  first  gush  of  sup- 
pressed feeling  was  over  and  he  had  relapsed  into 
his  habitual  seriousness.  Her  womanly  intuition 
divined  the  secret  at  a  glance,  and  she  felt  a  thrill 
of  unspeakable  rapture  on  finding  that  all  was  well 
with  him  at  home.  He  had  sought  and  found  the 
Peace  which  the  world  cannot  give  nor  take  away. 
Mrs.  Alloway  came  to  see  him  every  day  for 
weeks  after  his  return,  and  found  him  always  the 
same  quiet,  uncomplaining  and  abstracted  being.  To 
her  anxious*  inquiries  after  his  health,  he  invariably 
responded  that  he  slept  well,  felt  no  decided  pain, 
and  usually  ate  with  a  relish  what  was  set  before 
him.  On  one  of  these  visits  she  was  much  grati- 
fied to  observe  that  he  noticed  the  absence  of  the 
children,  and  wondered  why  they  were  never  brought 
to  see  him;  so  far  from  being  annoyed  by  them, 
nothing  she  could  devise  would  afford  him  half  so 
much  agreeable  diversion  as  their  merry  gambols  and 
innocent  prattle.  After  that  they  always  accompa- 
nied her,  and  frequently  came  by  themselves.  At 
first  they  were  considerably  awed  in  his  presence,  but 
they  were  not  long  in  finding  out  that  he  was  the 
gentlest  and  most  harmless  of  God's  creatures, 
instead  of  the  terrible  ogre  they  had  been  led  to 
imagine  from  the  mystery  in  which  his  history 
was  enveloped.  In  a  little  while  his  grave  deport- 
ment ceased  to  impress  them;  but  what  they  lacked 
in   reverence,   they  more   tlian   made  up   in  fondness. 


^'OODSOURXE.  41 

And  now  the  master  was  here,  even  the  frowning 
grimaces  and  dreadful  contortions  of  old  George  the 
butler,  began  to  lose  their  former  terrors.  *•  Uncle 
didn't  care,"  was  the  aggravating  rej^ly  to  every 
protestation  of  the  enraged  majordomo;  "and  every- 
thing on  the  land  belonged  to  uncle,  himself  in 
the  bargain;  and  he  was  nothing  but  an  ugly, 
bhick,  Guinea  nigger,  for  all  his  consequential  airs," 
which  sally  of  juvenile  wit  never  failed  to  rout 
the  enemy,  horse,  foot  and  dragoons.  Matters  were 
even  worse  than  before  he  came  home,  and  the 
disgusted  old  servant,  himself  a  paragon  of  all  that 
was  proper  and  decorous  in  behavior,  out  of  patience 
with  such  weakness,  wishes  he  had  staid  away  alto- 
gether, since  he  was  of  no  more  account  in  his 
own  house  than  to  be  made  a  stick-horse  of  by 
"dem  audacious  chill'un  of  Miss  Jane's,"  the  men- 
tion of  whom  was  always  coupled  with  the  awful 
prognostication  that  *'de  debble  was  sartin  to  git  dc 
las'  one  on  'em."  The  monster!  couldn't  he  see 
that  the  boisterous  romps  and  antics  of  this  wild 
troup  of  joyous  sprites  was  worth  all  the  physic 
in  Dr.  Harrington's  saddle-bags  to  liis  mister,  and 
brought  the  only  ray  of  real  cheerfulness  that  ever 
illumined  that  sad  face?  And  when  they  gathered 
around  his  chair,  under  the  spreading  oak  on  tiie 
lawn,  to  listen  with  breathless  interest  to  the  voice 
so  unlike  any  they  had  heard  before  in  its  strangely 
plaintive  and  musical  tones,  telling  such  beautiful 
stories  of  the  for-off  lands  he  had  visited,  and  the 
wonderful  people  and  things  he  had  seen,  his 
devoted  sister  overflowed  with  thankfulness  to  fmd 
her  tender  ministering  was   not  unavailing,   since   it 

4* 


42  WOODLOUEXE. 

awakened  in  Ins  breast  transitory  gleams  of  sun- 
shine whicli  she  feared  would  never  reyisit  that 
shady   desert. 

Shortly  after  his  uncle's  return,  Eichard  was 
sent  from  home  to  try  what  efficacy  there  was  in 
a  noted  fountain  of  learning  in  an  adjoining  county. 
To  what  extent  he  partook  of  its  Pierian  waters, 
and  v.-hether  he  derived  any  great  benefit  from 
the  same,  we  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain;  but 
from  the  fact  that  he  was  never  heard  to  brag  of 
his  attainments,  it  may  be  safely  conjectured  that 
he  was  contented  v/ith  the  intoxicating  effect  of 
shallow  draughts,  and  left  to  older  topers  the  sober 
delights  of  potations  pottle  deep.  "When  his  vaca- 
tion came,  Mr.  Austin,  who  had  manifested-  much 
interest  in  the  boy,  importuned  his  father  to  let 
him  come  and  live  at  Woodbourne.  Mr.  Alloway 
readily  consented,  and  as  Dick  was  now  grown 
almost  to  be  a  man,  his  society  and  assistance 
became  at  once  a  source  of  unmistakable  pleasure 
and  comfort  to  the  lonely  occupant  of  the  great 
mansion,  who,  among  other  things,  now  directed 
his  studies,  and  succeeded  in  inspiring  him  with 
a  relish  of'  the  dainties  which  are  bred  in  a  book 
which  he  had  never  before  experienced.  With  the 
help  of  such  a  kind  and  affectionate  mentor,  he 
made  wonderful  progress,  and  well-nigh  atoned  for 
liis  misspent  hours.  In  return,  he  gave  his  atten- 
tion to  the  affairs  of  the  plantation,  and  as  lie  did 
not  interfere  with  Uncle  George's  department, 
everything  went  on  now  as  pleasantly  as  could  be 
desired  by  all  parties.  In  and  about  the  house  was 
a  perpetual   atmosphere   of    calm   serenity  and    tran- 


wooDBorr.XE.  43 

quil  repose,  now  and  then  disturbed  by  an  incur- 
sion of  the  okl  butler's  uproarious  tormentors. 
Apparently,  Mr.  Eichard  Austin  vras  greatly  im- 
proved in  health  and  spirits;  yet  he  never  went 
into  society,  and,  except  an  occasional  visit  to  his 
sister,  led  a  life  of  perfect  retirement  and  seclu- 
sion. His  nephew  relieved  him  of  the  irksome  cares 
of  his  estate,  and  was  the  almoner  of  his  generous 
bounty  to  the  poor,  so  tha^*  he  was  vr holly  exon- 
erated from  worldly  concerns.  But  he  marked  how 
swiftly  the  days  were  gliding  by,  and  knew  that 
his  end  was   fast  approaching. 

One  morning  last  May,  Eichard,  who  had  been 
on  some  unusual  errand,  came  in  late  to  breakfast, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  his  uncle  had  not  yet 
made  his  appearance.  He  was  an  early  riser,  and 
it  was  his  custom,  when  dressed,  to  go  to  his  library 
and  spend  an  hour  in  study  and  devotion.  Here 
they  found  him  kneeling  beside  a  chair,  his  head 
bowed  over  his  clasped  hands,  which  rested  on  the 
Holy  Book  he  had  opened  for  the  last  time.  His 
prayer  was  answered;  the  poor  captive  was  free,  and 
the  sweet  smile  which  lingered  on  his  face,  recalling 
the  image  of  his  boyish  grace  and  beauty,  showed 
with  what  blissful  ecstacy  he  had  greeted  the  mes- 
senger of  Heaven,  and  walked  with  him  out  of  the 
dark  shadow  into  the  light  of  eternal  happiness. 
His  grave  is  the  fourth  one  you  sec  there,  and 
the  fifth  is  that  of  the  old  slave  who  followed 
him  in  a  little  while,  and  was  laid  at  the  feet  of 
those  he  had  so  long  and  faithfully  served.  Such 
was  the  peaceful  close  of  a  life  which  had  been 
embittered    by  one   crushing  grief,   and   it   was    con- 


44  WOODBOUEXE. 

soling  to  know  tliat  during  the  last  years  of  liis 
earthly  sojourn  he  had  found  an  alleyiation  of  his 
sorrovv's. 

By  his  uncle's  vrill,  which  vras  written  before  he 
Trent  abroad,  and  lodged  with  Mr.  Coi^land,  the 
old  lavryer  whom  Ave  have  mentioned,  and  which 
was  never  afterwards  altered,  his  nephew  succeeded 
to  all  his  property,  and  as  he  left  no  debts  or 
legacies  to  be  paid,  there  Avas  nothing  to  do  but 
to  take  immediate  possession  Avithout  legal  formali- 
ties of  any  description.  xVnd  thus  Ave  find  Mr. 
Eichard  Austin  AlloAA'ay,  at  the  free  age  of  one- 
and-tAA-enty,  lord  of  the  goodly  manor  of  "Wood- 
bourne,  Avith  all  its  broad  acres  of  field  and  forc-:t — 
as  fine  a  specimen  of  a  free-handed,  bold^spiritcd, 
bluff  and  burly  country  squire  as  could  be  found 
in  the  Avide  borders  of  the  Old  Dominion;  a  noted 
fox  hunter,  to  be  sure,  and  the  proud  OAvner  of 
the  AA'inner  of  the  SAveepstakes  at  Mt.  Airy  race- 
field;  yet  by  no  means  the  embodiment  of  extraA'- 
agance,  idleness  and  dissipation,  Avhich  he  is  rep- 
resented to  be  in  the  caricaturing  pictures  of  certain 
prejudiced  and  prudish  story  Avriters.  He  is  A'ery 
23opular  Avith  his  neighbors,  young  and  old ;  enter- 
tains as  becomes  his  station  and  fortune,  and  makes 
one  in  every  party  for  pleasure  and  amusement;  but 
he  does  not,  on  any  account,  neglect  his  plantation, 
Avhich  he  manages  Avithout  the  aid  of  an  OA'erseer, 
and  his  affairs  prosper  accordingly.  For  the  rest, 
it  is  evident  that  he  does  not  intend  to  remain  a 
bachelor  longer  than  he  can  help,  and  of  late  the 
frequent  apparition  of  a  stahvart  cavalier  on  a  Avell- 
knoAvn   sorrel   horse,   Avith   a   nosegay  at  his    button- 


WOODBOUKXE.  45 

hole,  and  a  countenance  expressive  of  the  extremes 
of  sheepish  bashf nines s  and  reckless  indifference, 
always  going  the  self-same  Avay,  furnishes  an  exhaust- 
less  theme  for  gossiping  people,  who  will  persist 
in  taking  so  much  trouble  upon  themselves  about 
matters  that  don't  concern  them.  How  his  wooing 
sped  will  in  due  time  appear. 


^- 


CHAPTER  IV. 


0  resume  the  thread  of  our  story,  the 
young  gentlemen  from  whom  vre  parted 
a  moment  ago  to  take  this  short  flight 
over  the  "  dark  backward  and  abysm  of 
time,"  are  now  seated  by  a  cheerful  fire  in  the 
dining-room;  for,  although  the  days  are  remarkably 
mild  for  the  season,  the  nights  are  so  cool  that 
the  warm  blaze  does  not  come  amiss  in  that  spacious 
apartment.  Dick  has  been  telling  about  his  uncle, 
and  when  he  had  finished  his  Yoice  was  tremulous, 
and  a  tear  was  glistening  in  his  mild,  blue  eye. 
His  friend  was  fiir  from  being  unmoved  by  the 
touching  story,  and  sat  for  some  time  in  deep 
meditation,  gazing  intently  at  the  fire  as  if  it  were 
a  Merlin  s  Mirror,  in  which  he  expected  to  find  an 
explanation  of  all  tliat  is  dark  and  enigmatical  in 
human   life. 

"Dick,"  he  at  length  said,  musingly,  "I  hope 
you  will  not  think  me  impertinent  for  pursuing  a 
delicate  topic — your  family  secrets — but  there  is  a 
mystery  here   I   would   like   to   explore." 

Dick. — "Certainly  not,  Harry;  you  are  heartily 
welcome  to  all  the  information  I  have  to  impart; 
but,   really,   I    am    unable    to    see    what  there  is   so 

(46) 


WOODBOUEXE.  47 

very  mysterious  in  my  poor  iinclc's  sorrowful  his- 
tory." 

Harry. — ''Xotliing  in  the  history,  as  far  as  it  is 
written;  but  were  you  never  curious  to  learn  what 
was  in  the  books  the  sybil  burned?  You  are  quite 
sure  he  left  no   record   of  his   travels?" 

Diclc. — '-'Xone,  as  far  as  I  have  discovered  in 
examining  his  papers;  not  the  remotest  hint  of 
anything  that  happened  to  him  while  he  was  abroad 
is  divulged  in  his  writings,  and  all  I  know  of  the 
matter  is  what  he  told  me  at  odd  times,  when  in 
the  vein  of  talking.  The  reason  why  the  efforts  to 
find  his  retreat  proved  futile,  is  now  perfectly  obvi- 
ous— he  had  changed  his  name  in  order  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  his  being  traced.  Doubtless,  he 
imagined  that  this  self-imjDOsed  penitence  would  be 
of  no  avail,  unless  it  was  fulfilled  with  scrupulous 
severity." 

Harry. — "Was  the  late  Mr.  Austin  a  Roman 
Catholic?" 

Dicl:. — '-'On  the  other  hand,  he  was  ardently 
attached  to  the  Church  of  Ensfland;  why  do  vou 
ask?" 

Harry. — ''You  spoke  of  his  doing  penance,  which, 
as  you  know,  is  a  word  of  fearful  significance  to 
devout  Catholics — means  frightful  torturings  and 
macerations  of  the  flesh,  lacerating  integuments, 
horrible  flagellations,  peas  and  pebbles  in  one's  shoes, 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  pierced  with  cold,  tormented 
vrith  hunger,  parched  with  thirst,  and  ever  so  many 
other  unimaginable  and  unendurable  agonies.  Did 
he  suffer   all   or   any   of  these   things  ? " 

DicTc. — "Of  course   I    did   not   mean    that   sort    of 


48  WOODBOUEXE. 

penance.  Indeed,  I  only  used  the  "word  for  want 
of  a  better.  From  the  time  that  I  came  to  knoAV 
him  well,  he  was  religiously  abstemious  and  self- 
denying,  a  pattern  of  temperance  in  all  respects ; 
but  I  am  sure  he  did  not  entertain  the  fanatical 
notion,  that  the  troubles  of  the  mind  could  be 
eased  or  dispelled  by  racking  the  body  with  every 
manner  of  pain.  Whenever  the  children  came  to 
see  him,  he  would  talk  to  them  for  hours  at  a 
time,  in  a  pleasant  and  instructive  way,  of  his 
ramblings  and  observations  in  Europe,  and  his 
sketches  of  characters  and  scenes  were  often  exquis- 
itely racy  and  humorous;  especially  glowing  and 
beautiful  v\'as  the  description  he  gave  them,  with 
almost  childish  rapture,  of  what  he  called  his 
'Happy  Valley,'  in  Switzerland,  where  he  lived  a 
whole  year  in  a  family  of  the  better  class  of  peas- 
antry, for  whom  he  formed  the  strongest  attachment. 
Our  conversation  was  usually  confined  to  literary, 
moral  and  religious  topics,  followed  by  critical 
remarks  from  him  on  his  favorite  authors.  He  was 
thoroughly  versed  in  French  and  Italian,  and  had 
what  seemed  to  me  to  be  an  inordinate  passion  for 
Tasso,  from  whose  'Jerusalem  Delivered'  I  trust  to 
be  evermore  excused.  That  and  'Milton's  Paradise 
Lost'  were  the  toughest  jobs  I  ever  undertook;  but 
to  please  Uncle  Eichard,  I  went  resolutely  through 
both   of  them  without   skipping  a  line."' 

Harry. — "AVhicli  is  more  than  I  can  sav.  Is 
that  all,   Dick?" 

Dlch. — "Yes;  at  least  I  can  think  of  nothing 
more   at   present." 

Harry. — "One  other  question— but   no,  I   will   not 


WOODSOURXE.  49 

trouble  you  witli  that."  Then  suddenly  puttinpj  on 
a  quizzical  mask  of  profound  gravity,  he  continued, 
quoting  fro:n  tlie  quaint  old  Knight  of  Xorwich: 
''  *  What  songs  the  syrens  sung,  or  what  name 
Achilles  assumed  when  he  hid  himself  among 
women,  though  puzzling  questions,  are  not  beyond 
all  conjecture.'  My  bay  against  your  sorrel,  Dickon, 
that  I  unmask  your  domino  the  very  first  trial. 
Your  uncle's  name- -his  assumed  one,  that  is  to 
say — was   Metcalf." 

Alloway  regarded  his  companion  with  undisguised 
amazement. 

"AThy,   Harry,''   he   exclaimed,    '-'you   are — " 

"Doctor  Faustus  or  the  devil!"  cried  his  lively 
companion.  "Don't  be  alarmed,  old  fellow;  there 
is  not  a  grain  of  black  magic  in  it.  Strange, 
though,''  he  muttered,  as  if  talking  to  himself, 
"that  this  interesting  solitaire  should  never  have 
occurred  to  us  to  be  the  man  we  were  looking  for." 

Dicfc. — "  The  man  you  were  looking  for  ?  AVhat 
in  the  name  of  common  sense  do  you  mean  by 
this   provoking   mummery?" 

Harry  (still  preserving  his  serio-comic  vein). — 
"  Davus  sum  noii  (Elipus;  you  can  read  the  rid- 
dle for  yourself.  Hearken  unto  the  story.  Some 
four  or  five  months  ago,  while  the  convention  was 
sitting,  there  came  to  Richmond  a  stranger,  whose 
unusual  appearance  and  mysterious  behavior  created 
no  little  stir  in  political  circles.  He  brought  let- 
ters from  Mr.  Charles  Carroll,  of  Maryland,  to  Mr. 
Peyton  Randolph  and  other  distinguished  gentle- 
men, to  whom  he  made  known  his  business,  and 
then  disappeared   as   quietly  as   he   came.     What  was 

5 


50  WOODBOUKXE. 

the  nature  of  liis  communication  lias  not  yet 
exactly  transpired,  but  report  says  it  had  an  im- 
portant bearing  on  the  questions  at  issue  with 
Great  Britain.  The  general  notion  seemed  to  be 
that  he  \vas  a  secret  ambassador  of  the  French 
Court.  Shortly  after  his  yisit,  the  exigency  of 
public  affairs  called  my  father  to  the  temporary 
capital,  where,  meeting  with  Mr.  Eandolph,  lie  was 
casually  asked  by  that  gentleman  whether  he  was 
acquainted  with  a*  man  in  Virginia  named  Ivichard 
Metcalf,  and  answering  to  a  particular  description. 
His  late  yisitor,  said  he,  was  greatly  concerned  to 
discover  the  whereabouts  of  the  person  he  had 
described,  and  he  had  engaged  to  look  him  up  if 
he  could  be  found  in  the  colony.  My  father  had 
never  heard  of  such  an  individual,  but  promised 
to  aid  Mr.  Iiandolph  in  searching  for  him.  All 
inquiries  np  to  the  time  of  Mr.  Eandolph's  sud- 
den death  wTre  fruitless,  and  after  that  lamentable 
event  my  father  gave  himself  no  further  concern 
about  the  matter,  until  he  received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Carroll,  some  days  ago,  repeating  the  inquiry. 
The  stranger,  I  learned,  was  a  Catholic  priest,  the 
Abbe  Julian  Soule.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
name  ?  " 

Alloway  shook  his  head;  he  was  sorely  puzzled. 
^•It  is  too  hard  a  nut  for  me  to  crack,  Harry; 
a  Catholic  priest?  AVhat  could  he  possibly  want 
with  Uncle   Eichard?" 

"Yes,  a  veritable  Catholic  priest,"'  repeated  his 
friend,  resuming  his  rallying  tone;  "'you  could  not 
well  look  more  preposterously  horrified  if  I  had 
said   it   was    Old    Xick    himself,    in   hot    pursuit    of 


"SVOODBOrRXE.  51 

some  poor  forsworn  "wretcli  "^"lio  hud  managed  to 
give  Mm  the  slip,  haying  repented  too  hxte  of  an 
evil  bargain  Tvith  the  arch-enemy.  Isonsense,  Dick; 
YOU  know  well  enough  your  good  uncle  was  not 
a  sorcerer,  nor,  what  some  folks  think  a  great  deal 
worse,  a  papist.  I  thought  you  were  superior  to 
such   vulgar   prejudices." 

Dicl:. — ''You  are  quite  in  the  right  for  so  thiuk- 
iiig ;  I  am  not  the  least  bit  prejudiced  on  that 
score.  Had  you  said  he  was  a  Jew  or  a  Turk,  it 
would  have  made  no  difference,  as  far  as  uncle 
vras  concerned;  his  religious  faith  was  as  rooted  as 
that  oak  tree  out  there.  A  Catholic  priest,"  he 
slowly  repeated;  "yes,  I  remember,  in  that  thrilling 
story  he  narrated,  a  priest  figures  conspicuously,  but 
his  name  was  Father  Manso,  an  Italian;  the  other 
name,  I  am  positively  certain,  I  never  heard  before." 

Carleion. — ''Well,  I  don't  reckon  it  is  of  much 
consequence  to  you  and  me  who  his  reverence  is, 
or  what  he  is  after;  so,  letting  him  go  for  the 
present  with  a  pax  vol i scum,  or  what  you  please, 
t^ll  me  now,  in  few  words,  what  you  think  U 
likely  to  be  the  be  all  and  end  all  of  this  dis- 
turbance  with   England?" 

Did'. — '^That  is  what  I  would  rather  you  should 
tell  me,  Harry;  you  have  been  playing  statesman 
of  late,  and  are  deep  in  the  public  counsels.  To 
my  unsophisticated  mind,  there  is  every  indication 
cf  a  bloody  and  devastating  civil  war.  It  is  not 
our  fault,  to  be  sure;  we  have  had  sufficient  pro- 
vocation, in  all  conscience,  to  justify  an  appeal  to 
arms;  but  the  alternative  is  none  the  less  dreadful 
for   that   reason,   nor  will    the    righteousness    of    our 


52  WOODBOURXE. 

cause  avert  the  miseries  Avhicli  fratricidal  strife  is 
sure  to  entail  upon  us.  The  die  is  cast;  the 
sword  only  can  decide  the  quarrel;  resistance  to 
the  death  should  now  he  the  watchword  and  reply 
in  every  patriot's   mouth." 

Harry  (eagcrlyj. — '-'Just  what  I  expected  to  hear 
from  your  lips;  they  belied  you,  who  said  you 
were  lukewarm  in  the   cause." 

Dich  (with  considerable  warmth). — ^-'What  right 
has  anybody  to  say  that  of  me?  Because  I  keep 
my  own  counsel,  and  don't  choose  to  go  swagger- 
ing and  ranting  about  the  country  like  a  fantas- 
tical Armido  or  blustering  Bobadil,  ravished  with 
the  music  of  my  own  valorous  tongue?  It  is 
nevertheless   true,   I   am  no   Hotspur." 

Harry. — ''AH  the  better  for  that;  it  is  a  name 
of  unlucky  omen— a  splendid  meteor,  vanishing  m 
darkness  and  dismay;  a  spasm  of  heedless  insur- 
rection expiring  in  a  field  of  Shrewsbury.  Cool 
heads  and  stout  hearts  are  Avhat  we  need.  A^ou 
are  right;  we  cannot  shut  out  the  truth  by  hold- 
ing up  our  hands  in  hopeless  deprecation.  It  is 
now  either  independence  or  abject  slavery.  There 
is  no  longer  room  for  temporizing  expedients  and 
patch-work  compromises.  There  is  but  one  course 
left  for  us,  the  idtima  ratio;  and  that  signifies 
everlasting  liberty,  or  endless  subjugation  to  the 
American  people.  So  say  the  oldest  and  most 
cautious  heads  in  the  colony.  The  fact  is,  my 
dear  friend,"'  he  proceeded  to  say,  warming  with 
the  exciting  theme,  '-'our  English  cousins  have 
never  had  the  slightest  idea  of  granting  our  very 
reasonable   demand.     They   steadily  look   upon   us   as 


•NVOODBOUEXE.  Cd 

a  set  of  political  Pariahs  and  Islimaelites — aliens 
from  the  Israel  of  British  freedom,  having  no  part 
or  lot  in  the  glorious  heritage  of  Magna  Charta. 
They  have  the  monopoly  of  the  commodity  of 
price,  and  they  mean  to  keep  it  if  they  can.  Pic- 
ture these  lords  of  humankind,  as  they  modestly  call 
themselyes,  ^vith  their  proud  ports  and  defiant  eyes 
passing  in  grand  review  before  the  nations,  every 
dirty  tatterdemalion  among  them  swaggering  about 
his  birthright  of  liberty,  and  we,  miserable  outcasts 
from  the  pale  of  the  constitution,  not  permitted  to 
feed  upon  the  husks  that  are  left  by  the  swinish 
multitude.  Oh,  it  makes  my  blood  boil  to  think 
of  their  audacious  effrontery.  How  I  wish  I  had 
never  been  born  a  British  subject;  a  fig  for  the 
name!" 

This  sudden  outburst  of  indignation  was  too  much 
for  Alloway's  gravity.  Seeing  Carleton  pause  for 
breath,  he  caught  up  the  satirical  strain:  ''Let  us 
have  another  manifesto  of  non-intercourse,  Harry, 
and  make  its  provisions  as  broad  and  general  as 
the  casing  air.  Henceforth  homespun  is  the  only 
wear,  'Sainte  Croix'  and  *01d  Madeira'  the  only 
tipple;  and  John  Bull  shall  not  have  our  tobacco 
at  a  guinea  a  sneeze.  That's  tlie  sum  tottle  o' 
the  whole  business — a  mere  matter  of  barter  and 
exchange  with  these  voracious  sharks — a  rump  of 
pickled  blue  beef  from  the  royal  shambles  for  a 
cwt.  of  Virginia  smoked  venison;  a  cask  of  rotten 
Scotch   herrings — " 

^«rr^'.— "Pshal  those  are  mere  trifles  compared 
with   the   one  great   grievance—" 

Dick    (re*fusing    to  yield    the    floor).— "And   then 


54  AVOODEOURXK. 

-we  must  kee])  on  paying  the  old  woman  over  there 
her  annuity  of  pin-money  for  sending  her  Eedcoats 
over  here  to  stir  up  the  redskins  to  mutiny  and 
rage,  and  on  no  account  forget  to  tickle  the  Pope 
of  England's  nose  Avith  a  tythe's  pig's  tail  for 
teaching  us  how  to  read  the  thirteenth  chapter  of 
Eomans  backwards.  Others  may  do  what  they  like, 
but,  as  for  me,  I  hereby  forever  abjure,  renounce, 
repudiate,  scorn  and  despise  the  whole  race  of  John 
Bull — not  excepting  Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  and 
^Milton  and  Pope,  and  Bacon,  and  Locke  and  Xew- 
ton,  and  Boyle  and — '0,  Jemmy  Thompson,  Jemmy 
Thompson,  0 1 ' — let  me  not  forget  to  anathematize 
the  panegyrist  Avho  lauded  his  mighty  countrymen 
after  that   disgustingly   fulsome   fashion — 

For  every  virtue,  every  worth  renovrncd ; 
Sincere,  j)lahi-heartecl,  hospitable,   kind; 
Yet,  like  the  mustering  thunder,  when  provoked. 
The  dread  of    tyrants,   and  the  sole  resource 
Of    those  who  under  grim  oppression  groan. 

You  have  not  forgotten  my  famous  "[)icce  of  decla- 
matiou,  Harry;  how  robusj:iously  I  used  to  mouth 
it,  to  the  admiration  of  our  dear  old  master,  rest 
his  soul  I  from  *  Heavens !  what  a  goodly  prospect 
spreads  around,'  to  tlie  awful  eidolon  of — ^Public 
zeal,  ever  musing  on  the  common  weal,  and  labor- 
ing glorious  for  some  great  design.'  Jupiter!  how 
fine  I  thought  it  was  I — the  very  sublime  of  heroic 
verse,  outstri})piug  ^Achille's  AVrath'  and  throwing 
^Arma  Vininique'  completely  in  the  shade.  Pah! 
nothing  but  downright  flummery  and  arrant  balder- 
dash from  beginning  to  end!  Oh,  the  luxury  of 
hating !      I    never    knew    what    it    was    until    now. 


"V\'OODLOUEXE.  55 

See  how  you  liave  set  me  in  a  Llaze,  you  f.rebranJ 
of   treason." 

"Then,"  said  Carlcton,  langhiiig,  '•' I  hal  better 
strike  while  the  iron  is  hot.  It  is  my  purpose 
to  go  to  work  right  away  and  raise  a  troop  of 
light  horse,  and  I  want  your  assistance  at  the 
start." 

Dick, — ^*You   shall   have    it:,    heart   and   hand." 

Harry. — '*  Seriously  ?  " 

Dich. — "As  a  Quaker  afc  a  love  feast.  I  never 
jest  on  that  subject." 

Harry  (enthusiastically). — ^-I  am  o\erjoyed  to  have 
you  second  my  project  so  warmly.  "We  will  about 
it  at  once.  Our  noble  chief  shall  not  have  cause 
longer  to  reproach  us  for  our  tardiness.  As  you  say, 
it  is  not  a  subject  for  idle  jest  or  vaporing.  We 
should  prepare  in  real  earnest  for  the  contest,  and 
to   fight   we   must  have   an   army." 

Dick. — "'An  army?  Where  is  the  army  of  Gen- 
eral  Washinsfton  ?  " 

o 

Harry. — "'  Little  better  than  a  mob,  and  fast  melt- 
insr  awav,  from  all  accounts.  "We  cannot  fisfht  British 
regulars  with  raw  militia  with  any  hope  of  success. 
You  are  a  crack  shot  and  a  capital  rider,  my  boy; 
but  to  cut  a  squirrex's  head  off  with  a  riile  and 
jump  a  horse  over  a  worm  fence,  desirable  accom- 
plishments as  they  may  be,  are  not  everything  that 
is  required  to  make  a  soldier  of  a  man.  Disci- 
X-line,  subordination,  endurance,  courage,  fortitude — 
these  are  the  necessary  elements  of  an  efficient 
army.  It  must  be  taught  to  move  like  a  j^erfect 
machine  at  the  will  of  its  commander;  and,  fighting 
or  retreating,   marching   or   countermarching — " 


56  TVOODBOUEXE. 

DicTc. — "Xever  mind  the  'disciplines  of  the  -^-ars,' 
brave  captain;  Braddock's  defeat  has  not  shaken 
my  faith  in  cold  steel  and  steady  valor.  Close  up, 
touch  ~  elbows,  eyes  front,  march  straight  into  the 
cannon's  month,  like  an  embattled  stone  wall, 
and — 'Our  army  swore  terribly  in  Flanders,'  quoth 
my  Uncle  Toby — which  last  accomplishment  is  easily 
learned.  It  is  a  stubborn  fact,  Hal;  there  is  no 
more  dangerous  animal  alive  than  that  same  British 
Lion  when  he  shakes  his  yellovv^  mane  and  glowers 
and  roars  in  very  anger.  It  will  require  all  the 
strength  of  our  united  hearts  and  hands,  and  other 
help  beside,  I  am  thinking,  to  keep  our  heads  out 
of  his  ugly  mouth.  What  do  you  perpend  sliall 
be   done  ?  ' ' 

Harry. — '-'ATere  all  the  people  of  my  mind,  they 
would  declare  George  AVashington  military  dictator, 
and  resolve  to  a  man  to  follow  him  blindfold.  As 
it  is,  I  shall  endeavor,  unfledged  stripling  as  our 
reverend  seniors  call  me,  to  do  my  full  duty— carry 
out  the  scheme  I  have  suggested,  with  your  aid, 
and  be  ready  to  take  the  field  before  the  campaign 
opens  next  spring.  We  shall  have  our  hands  full, 
without  doubt;  and,  between  us,  Dick,  matters  are 
not  as  they  should  be  at  Boston.  We  need  not 
proclaim  our  weakness  on  tlie  housetops.  If  we 
did,  vv-e  were  irretrievably  ruined— an  easy  prey  for 
your  ravening  beast.  Still  the  truth  should  not  be 
concealed  from  those  whose  hearts  are  in  the  cause, 
and  who  have  the  will  and  the  power  to  remedy 
the  evil.  Washington's  confidential  letters  reveal  a 
picture  of  poltroonery,  sordid  meanness  and  flagi'ant 
peculation   which   would  be    incredible   if    drawn   by 


T^'OODBOUEXE.  57 

a  less  scnipulons  pen.  He  calls  upon  the  fiower 
of  the  native  chivalry,  the  real  yoemanry  of  the 
land,  to  come  to  the  rescue;  men  who  will  freely 
take  upon  themselves  the  solemn  vow  of  consecra- 
tion to  the  holy  work,  and  not  quit  the  field  until 
their  country  takes  her  equal  station  among  the 
powers  of  the  earth.  It  was  well  enough  to  adver- 
tise the  world  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  our 
grievances;  to  tell  King  George  in  good,  set  phrase 
that  we  will  not  longer  bear  the  yoke  of  vassalage 
to  the  mother  country.  jSTow,  silence  in  the  ranks. 
Xo  more  brave  words;  no  more  paper  fulminations; 
no  more  exuberant  outpourings  of  the  duJce  et  decus 
spirit  in  cataracts  of  rhetorical  bombast.  Are  we 
earnest  patriots,  vrho  look  upon  liberty  as  a  jewel 
above  price?  Then  let  us  take  our  stand  without 
delay  in  the.  deadly  breach,  by  the  side  of  our 
chosen  leader.  But  we  will  talk  further  of  this 
another  time.  There  is  a  ship  lying  below;  can  you 
tell  me  anything  of  her  movements — when  she  sails 
and  whither  bound?" 

DicTc. — ''That,  sir,  is  the  good  bark  Katrine,  from 
Glasgow,  Hamilton  &  Osborn,  owners.  She  is  here, 
I  am  told,  to  take  on  board  the  household  goods 
and  chattels,  Lares  and  Penates,  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Osborn,  one  of  the  firm,  who  has  prudently  deter- 
mined to  go  back  to  Scotland  and  stay  there  until 
the  storm  blows  over,  if  not  for  the  rest  of  his 
days.  Xon-intercourse  has  already  rendered  the 
occupation  of  the  Scotch  merchants  comparatively 
worthless,  and  some  of  them  are  seeking  safer  and 
more  profitable   investments." 

Uarry. — ""What  of  your  neighbor,  Mr.  Graeme? 
IIow   is   he   affected  by   these   troubles?" 


58  YrOODBOURiH-E. 

Diclc, — "Generally  reserved  and  circumspect;  avoids 
discussion,  and  keeps  strict  guard  over  liis  temper 
when  the  behavior  of  certain  of  his  countrymen 
in  Maryland  is  denounced.  Yet  he  openly  avows  his 
abhorrence  of  Dunmore's  brutal  proclamation,  and 
declares  that  it  and  other  outrages,  that  spring-gun 
affair  particularh',  are  past  endurance.  Like  many 
others,  I  suspect  he  earnestly  deprecates  having  to 
resort  to  extreme  measures,  without  well  seeing  hov/ 
they  can  be  honorably  avoided.  His  son  is  as  out- 
spoken a  rebel  as  Patrick  Henry,  and  had  to  bo 
shipped  over  to  Scotland  to  keep  him  out  of  mis- 
chief. Eeally,  though,  it  was  done  more  to  relieve 
his  mother's  anxiety  of  mind  than  because  his 
father  disapproved  his  sentiments.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
Graeme  can  give  you  the  information  you  desire 
respecting  the  vessel.  He  was  once  a  partner  of 
Mr.  Osborn,  and,  I  believe,  still  retains  an  interest 
in   the   concern. 

//«rr^.—"  Which  is  all  the  better  for  my  pur- 
pose.    Will  you  go  with   me  to  see  him  to-morrow?" 

Dick. — "Yes,  in  the  evening;  I  have  an  engage- 
ment will  occupy  the  entire  forenoon.  A  plague 
on't!  I  wish  they  had  pitched  on  somebody  else 
for   the   disagreeable^ job." 

//rtrry.— " AVhat  is   it,   Dick?" 

Diclc.~''Oh,  a  most  weighty  affair.  You  see,  my 
especial  friend  and  pitcher,  the  collector,  has  been 
ever  so  long  at  loggerheads  with  an  c^^iially  cross- 
grained  neighbor  about  a  patch  of  alder  brake, 
which  a  fastidious  muskrat  wouldn't  have  as  a 
gracious  gift.  There  has  been  an  interminable  suit 
in    ejectment    between    them,    and    at    last,    sick    of 


WOODBOURXE.  59 

the  laws  delay,  and  sicker  still  of  the  fee  bills 
they  hare  had  to  foot,  they,  for  a  Tvonder,  agreed 
to  take  it  out  of  court,  and  refer  it  to  two  disin- 
terested and  judicious  freeholders  to  decide.  Lastly, 
the  arbitrators  have  locked  horns,  and,  ^vorse  to 
embroil  the  fray,  have  called  me  in  as  umpire.  Do 
you  know  -what   I   mean   to   do  ? '' 

Harry. — "Halve   the   loaf  between   the   litigants?" 

Harry. — ''Give  them  an  equal  share  apiece  of 
hard  crust,  and  decree  the  rest  in  costs?  that's 
English   for   equity.*' 

i>iH\— "Xot  a  bit  of    it." 

Harry. — ""What  then,   0,   learned  judge?'' 

Dicl\ — ""W'hy,  I  intend  to  award  the  whole  of 
it  to  the  frogs  for  a  free  commonwealth — a  nevr 
Atlantis,  where  they  may  croak  and  croak  from 
daylight  to  dawn  again,  with  none  to  molest  or 
make  them  afraid." 

Carleton  laughed  heartily.  "'  Capital,  famous,''  he 
exclaimed;  "the  tvro-edged  sword  of  justice  ctitting 
both  ways  at  once — one  edge  lopping  off  an  ever- 
lasting casus  Mil  between  two  tough  old  sticklers 
for  their  rights;  the  other  carving  out  a  perpetual 
paradise  for  the  subjects  of  King  Log.  If  yoti 
wield  a  sabre  with  the  same  address,  what  a  trooper 
vou  will  make.  Then  you  can't  go  till  evening; 
well,  that  will  be  time  enough  for  my  business 
with  Mr.  Graeme.  I'm  sorry  his  son  is  gone  away; 
the  country  can  ill  afford  to  spare  such  as  he.  Is 
young   Graeme  their  only   child? 

Duk — "The  only  son  living;  they  had  another 
and — a      daughter,"'      there      was      just      the      least 


GO  WOODBOUEXE. 

'tremor  of  embarrassment  in  his  voice,  and  the 
faintest  shade  of  heightened  color  suffused  his  sun- 
burnt cheek,  but  they  did  not  escape  the  quick, 
sparkling  eyes   of  his   sprightly  guest. 

"And  one  fa'ir  daughter,"  he  exclaimed;  "I  see 
it  all  now;  you  sly  old  fox,  earthed  at  last.  But 
how  is  this,  Dick;  what  have  3'ou  done  with  your 
other  charmer  of  whom  report  tells — the  lovely 
rose  of  Clifton  ?  she  that  is  said  to  be  *  the  shop 
of  all  the  qualities  that  man  loves  woman  for.' 
Has  the  fair  Eoseline  found  a  Juliet  in  the  daisy 
of  Bonhill?  Why,  I  took  you  for  the  very  north 
star  of  constancy,  and,  lol  3'ou  are  as  fickle  as 
the  moon.     Come,  unbosom;   I  am  dying  to  hear — " 

"Get  out  with  your  nonsense,  Harr}-,"  replied 
the  persecuted  swain;  "it  is  time  to  go  to  bed."' 
And  withottt  further  ceremony  he  snatched  up  a 
candle  and  conducted  Carleton  to  his  apartment  for 
the   night. 


CHAPTEP.   T. 


OU  must  amuse  3'ourself  here  as  best  you 
can  till  dinner-time,  Harry,"  said  his  host 
next  morning,  as  he  Avas  mounting  his 
horse.  "James  will  give  you  the  key  of 
the  library,  and  nothing  more  is  wanting  to  install 
you   in   full   authority   during   my   absence.*' 

Carleton  was  not  at  all  averse  from  being  left 
to  himself  for  some  hours  in  the  pensive  solitude 
of  the  quiet  mansion.  He  had  not  been  able  to 
close  his  eyes  immediately  on  retiring,  fatigued  as 
he  was,  for  thinking  of  its  late  occupant,  and 
weaving  all  manner  of  imaginary  adventures  out  of 
the  little  hank  of  party-colored  material,  which 
Dick's  strange  narrative  had  furnished;  and  when 
he  did  fall  asleep,  the  memory  of  that  disjointed 
story  he  had  been  listening  to  and  trying  to  put 
together  in  congruous  and  intelligible  form,  still 
lingered  and  haunted  him  in  a  tantalizing  dream, 
in  which  he  seemed  to  be  chasing  a  phantom  shape 
through  scenes  he  had  read  of,  until  they  were  as 
familiar  to  his  imagination  as  any  spot  known  to 
his  school-boy  rambles.  Xow  he  saw  it  toiling 
painfully  up  some  rugged  Alpine  steep,  and  ever 
and   anon   resting   on   its    staff    and    gazing   wistfully 

6  (Cl) 


62  WOODBOUPvXE. 

at  the  glittering  peak,  which  mocked  its  daring 
aim;  then  it  apx^eared  to  be  gliding  like  a  shadow 
among  mouldering  ruins  and  crumbling  fanes,  or 
vanishing  in  the  cloistered  gloom  of  solemn  min- 
ster or  grim  sepulchral  vault;  then,  again,  it  is 
seen  standing  lonely  and  weird  on  the  deck  of  the 
storm-driven  vessel,  and  straining  its  wild,  yearn- 
ing eyes  over  the  dark  and  barren  waste  of  waters, 
and,  at  last,  it  returns  to  find  its  only  rest  under 
the  canopy  of  the  loving  oak,  whose  mighty  arms 
stretch  forth  and  clasp  the  wanderer  in  an  eternal 
embrace. 

On  awaking  from  his  fevered  trance — sleep  it 
could  hardly  be  called — he  found  it  impossible  to 
shake  off  the  enchantment  of  those  nightly  visions, 
and  at  breakfast  his  host  did  not  fail  to  note  the 
air  of  musing  and  absent-minded  soberness,  which 
vras  so  much  at  variance  with  his  wonted  rollick- 
some  and  debonair  gaiety.  Alloway  did  not  venture 
to  ask  for  an  explanation  of  his  guest's  unusual 
pensiveness,  for  fear  of  bringing  on  another  fit  of 
teasing,  and,  with  the  ordinary  polite  commonplaces, 
left  him  to  chew  the  cud  of  vrhatever  fancy  had 
taken   possession   of  his   thoughts. 

After  a  short  stroll  over  the  lavrn  and  through 
the  garden,  Carleton  returned  to  the  house,  and 
taking  the  key  from  the  servant,  proceeded  to  the 
library.  He  could  not  repress  a  slight  feeling  of 
awe  as  he  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  but  it  dis- 
appeared as   soon   as   he   opened   the   door. 

The  sun,  streaming  in  at  the  windows,  bathed 
the  apartment  in  a  quivering  flood  of  mellow  radi- 
ance, and   far   from   presenting  the   gloomy  array   he 


■\yOODBOUE:N'E.  63 

had  pictured,  every  object  "wore  the  brightest  and 
most  cheerful  aspect.  The  heavy  avails  and  ceiling 
paneled  in  grained  oak,  and  glistening  Avith  a  new 
coat  of  Tarnish;  the  solid  furniture  of  shining 
mahogany  and  black  vralnnt  without  speck  or  stain; 
the  well-filled  book-cases,  around  which  no  sign  of 
cobwebs  and  venerable  dust  was  clinging — these 
certainly  were  not  the  common  appurtenances  of  an 
anchorite's  devotional  retreat.  In  one  corner  of  the 
room  stood  a  large,  old-fashioned  cabinet,  or  "sec- 
retary," profusely  embellished  with  brass  ornaments 
in  the  highest  state  of  polish,  and  opposite  to  this 
was  a  glass  case  of  imposing  dimensions,  which 
was  stored  with  an  Gmnium  gatherum  of  rare  curi- 
osities— mineral  substances  in  endless  variety,  relics 
of  art,  ohjcts-de-vcrtu,  and  the  like — a  sight  such 
as  would  make  a  virtuoso's  heart  leap  for  joy,  and 
prove  by  no  means  uninteresting  to  the  man  of 
real  science.  The  ample  fireplace  was  adorned  with 
huge  brass  andirons,  on  which  the  wood  was  piled 
ready  to  be  kindled;  a  substantial  fender  of  the 
same  material  protected  the  uncarpeted  and  wax-pol- 
ished floor,  and  they,  the  andirons  and  fender,  as 
well  as  the  shovel,  poker  and  tongs,  Avere  burnished 
to  a  degree  of  immaculate  brilliancy  that  was  mar- 
vellous to  behold.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  was 
a  large,  round  table,  on  which  were  writing  male- 
rials,  several  books,  and  bundles  of  papers  neatly 
tied  up  and  sealed,  and  by  its  side  stood  an  ancient 
heirloom  in  the  shape  of  a  capacious  easy-chair, 
lined  with  morocco  and  padded  witli  hair,  and  having 
a  contrivance  for  writing  or  resting  a  book  attached 
to   one  of  its   arms.     The  mantlepiece  was  decorated 


G4  WOODBOUKNE. 

with  a  pair  of  massive  silver-plated  candelabra,  two 
handsome-figured  porcelain  vases,  and  various  speci- 
mens of  Wedgewood's  ornamental  wares,  and  in  a 
niche  above  it  v/as  a  terra-cotta  bust,  which  passed 
current,  on  what  authority  is  not  stated,  for  a  speak- 
ing likeness  of  the  renowned  founder  of  Jamestown 
colony;  one  or  two  bronze  statuettes,  on  brackets, 
of  famous  mythological  characters,  a  few  select  pic- 
tures of  English  hunting  and  pastoral  scenes,  a 
dozen  chairs  of  sundry  patterns,  a  commodious  sofa, 
and  an  inviting  settee,  or  kind  of  lounge;  these, 
with  the  books  on  the  shelves,  the  map  on  the 
wall,  the  dove-colored  window  curtains  and  one  large 
portrait,  complete  our  tame  description  of  this  fairer 
dwelling  of  heavenly  pensive  contemplation  than  the 
awful  monastic  cell  to  which  she  has  been  ruth- 
lessly consigned  by  Pope  and  ParnelFs  melancholy 
muse.  The  deeply-recessed  windows  looked  out  on 
a  wildering  maze  of  shrubs  and  flowers,  whose  glories 
had  fled  the  approach  of  winter,  and  at  no  great 
distance  in  the  background  towered,  in  regal  pomp 
of  purple  and  gold,  the  majestic  forest,  which  was 
"Woodbourne's  envied  ornament  and  pride.  Through 
the  latter  a  wide  and  deep  ravine,  making  a  natural 
vista,  aff*orded  a  tantalizing  glimpse  of  the  lovely 
prospect  beyond,  bounded  by  the  dark-blue  line  of 
the  Potomac,  and  the  softer  azure-hued  "silent  hills 
and  more  than  silent  skies"  of  Maryland.  Within, 
every  object  was  bright  and  alluring,  and  without 
it  was  so  dreamy  and  still  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
world,  like  the  cat  demurely  dozing  on  the  garden 
fence,  had  gone  to  sleep  under  the  drowsy  influ- 
ence  of  the   delicious   Xovember   haze— 


vrooDBOuriXE.  G5 

"Whose  vapory  folds  o'er  the  landscape  strays 
And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze, 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil, 
"\Miere  dimplhig  tissues  from  the  gaze, 
The  form  half  hides  and  half  bL'trays, 

Of   beauty  wan  and  pale. 

"Whatever  of  agony  and  torturing  care  the  self- 
exiled  wanderer  may  have  suffered  elsewhere,  or 
what  the  pangs,  if  any,  he  endured  in  secret  at 
home,  assuredly  they  could  not  be  laid  to  the  charge 
of  the  tutelary  genius  of  this  delightsome  abode. 
Such  vras  Carleton's  internal  conviction  as  he  took 
in  the  whole  charming  scene  at  a  glance,  before 
pausing  to  inspect  the  portrait  which  confronted 
him.  It  -was  that  of  a  rosy-cheeked,  fiiir-haired  boy 
of  sixteen  summers,  surprisingly  beautiful  and  radi- 
ant with  the  "purple  light  of  love  and  bloom  of 
young  desire.''  Looking  on  that  exquisite  picture, 
how  vividly  came  rushing  into  his  memory  the 
mournful  numbers  of  that  psalm  of  life  he  knew  by 
heart,  and  there  vras  an  unsuspected  pathos  and 
depth  of  feeling  in  his  voice  as  he  repeated  aloud 
the   lines. 

Yet  see  how   all  around  them   wait, 

The  ministers  of  human  fate. 

And  black  misfortune's  baleful  traai ! 

Could  that  handsome  cavalier,  proud,  self-reliant, 
panoplied  in  complete  armor  for  the  fray  in  the 
times  which  tried  men's  souls,  have  had  a  premo- 
nition of  the  evil  days  to  come  ?  Had  the  unseen 
hand  of  the  wizard  pushed  aside  the  mystical  cur- 
tain for  a  moment,  and  revealed  to  his  gaze  the 
maimed  and  broken  wreck  of  a  noble  form,  racked 

6* 


CG  WOODBOUEXE, 

upon  a  bed  of  suffering,  on  a  lonely  island,  and 
dying  far  from  Avife,  and  children,  and  friends,  and 
sacred  home  ?  He  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and 
walked  to  the  book-case.  Having  diverted  himself 
there  for  awhile  with  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
one  or  two  books,  and  discovered  that  he  was  in 
no  humor  for  reading,  he  at  last  fell  to  contem- 
plating the  old  secretary  in  the  corner,  and  sur- 
mising what  it  might  have  hid  away  in  its  num- 
berless receptacles.  There  was  no  telling  how  old 
it  was;  it  had  the  unmistakable  impress  of  hoar 
antiquity;  had  witnessed,  no  doubt,  the  passing 
away  of  several  generations,  and  consequently  pos- 
sessed the  irresistible  attractions  which  surround  the 
proverbial  tomb  of  secrets  in  every  old  house.  It 
should  be  remarked,  however,  that  we  Virginia 
peo2:)le  have  a  queer  delusion  on  the  subject  of  anti- 
quarianism,  and  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  inva- 
riably of  the  Old  Dominion,  of  colonial  memory,  in 
that  venerating  -way  which  seems  to  imply  an 
antediluvian  existence,  and  of  our  blessed  great 
grandams  as  if  they  flourished  at  a  period  when 
"Pharaoh's  mothers  mother's  mummy"  was  a  crispy- 
headed  marvel   of  toddling   babyhood. 

To  resume,  our  young  friend  was  in  the  best 
possible  frame  of  mind  to  indulge  a  roving,  listless 
curiosity,  and  he  felt  himself  drawn  towards  the 
mysterious  object  in  the  corner  by  an  invisible 
power.  He  could  not  forbear  smiling  at  the  eager- 
ness with  which  he  found  himself  approaching  it. 
How  ridiculous,  he  thought,  the  idea  of  expecting 
to  discover  anything  here  which  would  throw  a  ray 
of  light  on   the  subject   of  his   idle   cogitations.     Of 


^OODBOURXE.  67 

course,  eyery  hole  and  cranny  had  been  probed  and 
peered  into  a  hundred  times  over.  Still  he  could 
not  divest  himself  of  a  certain  vague,  undefined 
sensation  that  he  was  treading  on  the  verge  of  a 
wonderful  revelation— due  in  a  great  measure  to  the 
reflection  he  was  then  making,  that  Dick  had  only 
examined  his  uncle's  papers  in  a  careless,  perfunc- 
tory manner,  without  reference  to  any  particular 
inquiry,  and,  therefore,  had  probably  overlooked  or 
forgotten  many  things  vrhich  he  might  consider 
extremely  significant  in  clearing  up  the  mystery 
concerning  the  late  Mr.  Austin  and  the  Catholic 
priest.  The  first  drawer  he  opened  contained  naught 
but  a  pile  of  uninviting  rubbish,  newspapers,  pam- 
phlets, loose  sheets  of  paper  torn  from  old  ledgers, 
mingled  in  a  confused  mass,  which  showed  the  little 
value  in  which  they  were  held,  and  the  many  times 
they  had  been  rummaged  over;  so  with  the  second 
and  the  third,  which,  in  addition  to  the  trumpery 
we  have  mentioned,  were  filled  with  an  endless 
assortment  of  disabled  household  utensils.  The 
fourth  drawer  was  more  attractive  in  appearance, 
though  it,  too,  promised  very  little  towards  reward- 
ing the  painful  researches  of  a  curiosity  hunter, 
presenting,  as  it  did,  one  sea  of  letters  upon  letters, 
some  of  them  tied  up  in  packages,  whilst  others 
lying  open  were  fastened  together  in  piles  by  a 
thread,  as  if  arranged  for  easy  reference.  They  bore 
the  address  of  Ui\  John  Austin,  and  embraced  the 
greater  portion  of  his  voluminous  correspondence 
with  distinguished  men  of  his  day,  on  topics  of 
public  interest — matter,  perchance,  valuable  to  the 
future    historian  of   the   colony,   but    wholly    uncon- 


68  WOODBOUR^'E. 

cerned  with  the  fortunes  of  the  recluse.  There  was 
a  MS.  among  them,  which  proved  to  be  an  unfin- 
ished memoir  and  biographical  sketch  of  his  father, 
on  which  Mr.  Piichard  Austin  was  employed  at  the 
time  of  his  death.  Having  given  this  a  hurried 
perusal,  and  entertained  himself  for  some  time  with 
skimming  over  old  letters,  in  which  politics,  the 
price  of  tobacco  and  negroes,  religious  squabbles, 
Indian  depredations,  Braddock's  expedition,  and  other 
matters  relating  to  the  welfare  of  the  colony  before 
he  was  born,  were  mixed  in  an  inextricable  melange, 
Carleton  was  about  to  close  the  dravrer,  when  a 
familiar  hand-writins^  on  the  back  of  one  of  the 
bundles  of  letters  he  had  not  disturbed  arrested  his 
attention.  It  was  from  his  father,  who  had  once 
been  Mr.  John  Austin's  colleague  in  the  House  of 
Burgesses.  He  untied  the  package,  and  examined 
the  contents.  The  letters  were  all  from  the  same 
source,  and  of  the  same  general  purport — consult- 
ing and  comparing  opinions  on  legislative  matters. 
All  but  one,  v/hich  appeared  to  be  strangely  out 
of  place  in  that  company,  intruded  there  evidently 
through  inadvertence.  These  documents  had  been 
carefully  inspected  by  the  author  of  the  MS.,  as 
was  shown  by  the  copious  extracts  of  them  he  had 
made.     The     interloping     epistle     was    addressed    to 

Eichard    Austin,    Esquire,    Gent;    X •    Store, 

W County,  Virginia.     x\s  Carleton  stood  holding 

the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  looking  Avonderingly  at 
the  strange  superscription,  he  again  felt  the  sensa- 
tion of  mysterious   aAve   creeping   over   him. 

"Psha!"   said   he,   striving  to   throw   off  the  spell 
with   a  contemptuous  shrug;  "what  childish  folly  is 


wooDBornxE.  G9 

this  I  One  would  think  I  Wcis  in  the  very  act  of 
unrolling  the  dread  scroll  of  fate,  and  reading  what 
it  had  in  store  for  me,  when,  in  fact,  I  am  only 
halloing  my  idle  fancy  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  There 
is  nothing  in  Mr.  IMchard  Austin's  melancholy  his- 
tory can  affect  my  career  in  life.  Yet,  how  do  I 
know  that?  'Wlio  can  foretell  the  influence  which 
one  m.an's  lightest  act  or  word  may  have  on  the 
fortunes  of  others?  Is  not  each  of  us  a  link  in 
the  chain  of  inscrutable  destiny?  But  a  truce  to 
moralizing;  let's  see  what  is  here.-'  lie  opened  the 
letter,   and   read   as   follows: 

LoXDOX,   Feb.   12,  O.S.,   1773. 
My  Dear  Sir  : 

Yours,  under  date  of  Xovember  IGth,  1774,  came  to 
liand  only  a  fortnight  ago,  the  vessel  having  been  delayed 
on  the  voyage  over  by  stress  of  weather.  Agreeable  to 
your  wishes,  I  lost  no  time  in  calling  upon  Sir  William 
ilarkhara,  M.P.,  at  his  lodgings  in  this  city.  Our  inter- 
view was  of  the  most  pleasant  and  satisfactory  charac- 
ter. Waiving  preliminaries,  I  showed  him  your  letter, 
remarkhig  that  it  would  best  explain  the  nature  of  my 
business.  lie  perused  it  with  grave  interest,  and,  as 
I  thought,  suppressed  emotion.  After  which  he  said, 
*•  Please  do  me  the  kindness  to  say  to  Mr.  Austin,  that  I 
duly  received  his  communication,  and  that  my  failure  to 
acknowledge  it  involves  a  tedious  and  painful  explana- 
tion, which  shall  be  made  as  soon  as  I  can  command 
sufficient  leisure."  He  then  told  me  of  a  visit  he  had 
from  a  Catholic  priest,  who  was  apparently  interested 
about  the  same  subject,  and  "VAhom  he  had  treated  very 
cavalierly,  to  say  the  least,  not  having  deigned  even  to 
ask  his  name.  "Was  that  person  in  Mr.  Austin's  confi- 
dence? If  so,  where  could  he  be  found?  I  replied  that 
I   had  never  heard  you  speak  of    such  a  person  in  con- 


70  WOODBOUEXE. 

nection  M'itli  him,  and  that  I  would  advise  you  of  the 
circumstance  in  my  answer  to  your  letter.  WItli  that 
our  conference  ended. 

The  master  of  the  Speedwell  has  just  called  to  inform 
me  that  his  vessel  will  drop  down  on  the  next  tide, 
and  to  know  if  I  wish  to  send  anything  on  board.  As 
I  have  several  little  commissions  to  dispatch,  I  must 
bring  tliis  letter  to  a  close.  Please  tell  Mr.  Copland 
that  his  matter  received  prompt  attention;  I  sent  remit- 
tance to  him  last  week  in  exchange  on  Amsterdam,  for 
fear  of  accidents.  I  yet  hope  and  believe  we  will  arrive 
at  a  good  understanding  with  the  colonies.  Let  me 
hear  from  you  by  the  first  opportunity.  Communication 
with  America  is  becoming  more  and  more  uncertain 
every  day.  Did  you  get  the  books  shipped  per  packet 
Hover?  I  am  pleased  to  hear  that  3-onr  health  continues 
to  improve.    With  best  wishes,   I  remain, 

Fa'thfull.v,   your  friend  and  obedient  servant, 

James  Buchanan. 

"February  12tli,  1775,"  repeated  Carleton,  looking 
back  at  the  date  of  the  letter;  "received  April  6tli, 
and  answered  on  the  15  th  of  the  same  month.  Mr. 
Austin  died  shortly  after;  and  so  ends  the  chapter. 
How  provoking.  It  is  plain  that  Dick  has  not  seen 
this  letter.  The  priest  again.  Can  he  le  the  same 
Julian  Soule?  I  have  a  mind  to  write  to  Mr. 
Carroll."  The  sound  of  hurried  footsteps  in  the 
hall  interrupted  the  train  of  his  thoughts,  and  he 
barely  had  time  to  thrust  the  letter  in  his  bosom 
before   Alloway   came   bursting   into   the   room, 

"Halloo,  old  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  hearty 
way,  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  open  drawer  of  the 
secretary;  "what  the  deuce  are  you  up  to  there? 
Could  you   find   nothing  better   to    console    you    for 


WOODBOURXE.  71 

my  absence  than  is  to  be  got  by  gnawing  at  the 
mouldy  bare  bones  in  that  himber  chest?  Come, 
I  am  sure  you  need  something  to  wash  your  throat 
and  help  your  digestion  after  such  a  musty  repast. 
You  see  I  am  back  sooner  than  I  promised,"'  he 
rattled  on,  while  Carleton  was  re-arranging  the  con- 
tents of  the  drawer.  "  One  of  the  referees  was  sick, 
and  the  case  had  to  be  laid  over.  I  would  have 
been  here  an  hour  ago,  if  I  had  not  chanced  to 
fall  in  with  Bob  Temple  on  the  road.  He  is  always 
brimful  of  news,  and  is  a  kind  of  good-natured, 
gossiping  burr  that  one  finds  hard  to  shake  off. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  relish  a  little  of  Bob  once  in 
a  while,  taken  fresh,  but  he  gets  to  be  consumedly 
boring  on  too  long  and  too  frequent  acquaintance. 
Still,  there  is  no  great  harm  in  the  prattling  jay- 
bird of  a  creature.  He  had  been  to  Clifton,  he 
said,  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  foreign  gentleman 
from  France,  who  is  Colonel  Littleton's  guest.  *  For- 
eign gentleman,'  said  I;  'do  you  mean  the  fellow 
who  bolted  into  our  chase  yesterday,  and  out  again, 
like  a  clap  of  thunder?'  'The  very  same,'  replied 
Bob.  'You  see,  one  of  the  colonel's  hands  vwis  down 
at  my  house  betimes  this  morning  for  a  load  of 
oysters,  and  he  told  me  as  hovr  his  master  and 
young  mistress  were  just,  the  day  before  yesterday, 
come  home  from  Maryland,  and  brought  with  them 
a  mighty  nice  gentleman,  they  called  Mr.  Conrad — a 
beau  Miss  Mary  had  caught  somewhere  over  the 
river.  So  I  thought  it  was  the  civil  thing  to  do 
for  me  to  ride  up  and  call  on  the  distinguished 
stranger,  for  between  us,  not  to  go  any  farther, 
there  is  no  manner  of  doubt  about  it,  he  is  a  count 


72  WOODBOUEXE. 

or  marquis,  or  something  of  ilie  sort,  as  sure  as  a 
gun's  iron.'  *  Marquis,  fiddlesticks  I  ^  said  I ;  *  more 
likely  a  runagate  of  a  dancing  master,  or  abscond- 
ing valU-de-cliamhre.  Did  you  see  him?'  *Xo,'  said 
he, 'he  was  gone  to  ride  with  Miss  Littleton.  I 
sat  some  time  waiting  for  them  to  return,  when 
who  should  walk  in  but  my  especial  aversion,  old 
Jake  Thompson' — he  gave  Bob  his  title  of  Daily 
Postman — *he  was  come  for  his  usual  dish  of  pol- 
itics with  the  colonel,  and  they  were  soon  at  it 
tooth  and  nail,  talking,  and  swearing,  and  gesticu- 
latino:  like  mad.  That  sort  of  fumino;  and  ravin 2^ 
did  not  suit  me,  so  I  left  my  compliments  for  the 
marquis,  and  promised  to  call  again.'  Marquis, 
quotha  I  and  this  philandering  Monsieur  Magnifico 
is  Miss  Littleton's  latest  conquest.  A  second  Portia 
is  my  fair  cousin,  and  this  another  Colchos  strand 
for  many  Jasons,"  and  Dick  closed  the  library 
door  with  a  bang,  and  led  the  Avay  to  the  dining- 
room  in  the  loftiest  imaginable  state  of  scornful 
incredulity.  Carleton  was  too  busily  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts  to  pay  attention  to  this  disdainful 
ebullition.  When  they  had  finished  their  toddy,  and 
were  seated  together  on  the  porch,  he  adroitly  turned 
the  conversation  into  the  channel  in  vrhich  he 
wished  it  to  flow. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


T  had  not  escaped  his  guest's  keen  obser- 
vation that  Mi\  Eichard  Alloway  was 
more  deeply  agitated  than  he  cared  to 
acknowledge  by  that  incident  concerning 
the  Catholic  priest.  Evidently,  it  had  not  before 
occurred  to  him  that  there  was  aught  of  especial 
interest  in  his  uncle's  lonely  career  to  anybody  but 
his  own  family  and  small  circle  of  friends.  His 
emotion,  on  hearing  Carleton's  story,  was  that  of 
undisguised  wonder  at  a  most  unexpected  revelation. 
The  fact  that  a  stranger,  whose  name  he  did  not 
remember  to  have  ever  heard  from  Mr.  Austin's 
lips,  was  so  much  interested  to  find  him  out,  was 
well  calculated  to  excite  in  a  less  sensitive  mind 
than  Dick's  something  more  serious  than  a  transi- 
tory feeling  of  curiosity.  Duly  respecting  the  ten- 
der and  affectionate  reverence  with  which  his  friend 
invested  the  memory  of  his  uncle,  Carleton  observed 
the  utmost   delicacy   in   approaching  the   subject. 

"What  a  charming  library  you  have,  Dick,"  said 
he;  *' nothing  of  the  awful  or  mysterious  to  be  seen 
there.-'' 

"It  is  the  brightest  spot  about  the  house,''  replied 
Dick;   "everything  is   just    as   uncle    left   it,    except 

T  (73) 


74  WOODBOURXE. 

the  portrait,  wliicli  took  the  phice  of  one  of  my 
grandfather  I  pointed  out  to  yon  in  the  halL 
He  had  the  room  repaired  and  newly  painted  hist 
spring  shortly  before  his  death.  He  Avas  very  par- 
tial to  it,  and  spent  a  third  of  his  time  there  in 
the   old   arm-chair  beside  the  table." 

Harry. — "Hovr   did  he  occupy  himself?"         ^ 

Diclc. — '"'Hsually  in  reading  and  meditation;  lat- 
terly he  Avrote  a  good  deal,  being  interested  in 
preparing  memoirs  of  his  father  and  other  eminent 
men  of  that  day.  You  may  have  seen  the  MS. 
among  those   old  papers  ? " 

Harry. — ''I  read  portions  of  it;  he  has  paid  my 
father  the  compliment  of  quotnig  extensively  from 
his  letters  to  Mr.  John  Austin.  He  was  alone,  I 
imagine,   the  greater  part   of  the   time." 

Diclc. — "Yes;  frequently  during  the  day  and  ahvays 
at  night  until  his  regular  hour  for  retiring,  he  had 
the  room  entirely  to  himself.  It  was  his  custom 
of  a  morning  and  evening,  when  the  vreather  was 
good,  to  walk  awhile  in  the  garden  and  look  after 
the  flowers,  of  which  he  vras  very  fond,  and  now 
and  then  he  would  have  his  chair  brought  out  in 
the  shade  of  the  oak  tree  on  tlie  lav\-n;  still,  with 
Prospero,  he  might  truthfully  say,  his  library  was 
his   dukedom." 

Harry. — "And  you  are  positively  certain  he  left 
nothing  in  the  v>-ay  of  writings  except  the  unGn- 
ished  memoirs  ?  " 

Dich. — "That  is   certainly   my   firm  belief." 

Harry. — "You  have,  then,  made  a  thorough  search 
among  his  papers?" 

/)«V7j.— "His   papers?     AYhy    he    left    nothing    but 


WOODBOUIi:S"E.  70 

what  you  saw.  Most  of  that  rubbish  in  the  old 
secretary  was  a  legacy  from  my  grandfather;  I  have 
never  had  the  least  inclination,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
leisure,  to  overhaul  it.  As  for  the  unfinished  mem- 
oirs, pendunt  opera  interrupta,  and  so  they  are  likely 
to  remain  for  this  generation,  if  they  look  to  me 
for  completion.  But  why  are  you  so  inquisitive, 
Harry  ?  did  you  find  a  mare's  nest  in  that  ancient 
heirloom?  By  Jove  I  old  fellow — "  It  should  be 
remarked  in  this  place,  par  parentliese,  that  Mr. 
Eichard  Alloway  hud  a  habit  of  frequently  appeal- 
ing, in  a  familiar  manner,  to  the  great  Olympian 
Thunderer,  whether  as  a  meaningless  expletive 
merely,  or  a  convenient  rhetorical  safety-valve,  or  as 
his  peculiar  way  of  making  known  his  veneration 
of  the  ancient  classics,  we  cannot  undertake  to  say. 
"By  Jove  I  old  fellow,  I  verily  believe  you  are  a 
regular  professor  of  black  magic.  That  look,  now, 
*  angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  I '  Do 
they  teach  necromancy  in  your  famous  "\\'ittenberg 
in  Xew  Jersey?" 

Carleton  laughed,  and  putting  off  the  mask  of 
simulated  awe  he  had  waggishly  assumed,  "Don't 
be  alarmed,  Dick,"  said  he;  "I  am  not  trying  to 
work  upon  your  superstitious  fears.  My  questioning 
was  only  intended  to  make  certain  whether  you 
had  ever   seen   this   letter." 

Alloway  took  it  from  his  hand,  and  seeing  to 
whom  it  was  addressed,  became,  on  an  instant,  very 
grave  and  thoughtful.  When  he  had  perused  it 
twice  over,  he  fell  into  a  profound  reverie,  and 
began  whistling  in  a  low  undertone — a  sign,  as  his 
friend    well    knew,    that    he    was    perplexed    to     an 


70  WOODBOUE^'E. 

extraordinary  degree.  Carleton,  too,  dropped  into  a 
brown  study.  To  his  susceptible  imagination,  the 
letter  revealed  a  fascinating  scene  of  wild  and 
startling  conjecture.  It  was  like  a  yoice  from  the 
grave  of  the  buried  past,  whose  weird,  unearthly 
tone  vibrated  on  his  heart,  and  called  up  a  throng 
of  fantastic  and  shadowy  images.  The  torturing  illu- 
sions of  his  last  night's  dream  faded  into  nothing- 
ness before  the  consciousness  of  some  unknown  life 
mystery  which  lay  hidden,  as  he  conceived,  under 
the  ivy  green  an  arrow's  flight  from  Avhere  he  sat, 
j)ondering  on  the   strange   words   he   had  read. 

"You  observed  the  allusion  there  to  the  priest, 
Dick,"  he  at  length  said,  musingly;  "he  is  the 
veritable  cleiis  ex  machina  of  our  mystery.  Of  course 
it   can   be  no   other   than   the   Abbe   Julian   Soule." 

"Like  enough,"  replied  Dick;  "but  it  was  not  of 
him  I  was  thinking.  Markham,  Markham — why, 
that  was  the  name  of  the  unfortunate  hero  of 
uncle's  pathetic  little  romance;  and,  what  is  like- 
wise remarkable,  the  other  prominent  character,  a 
lady,  was  called  Conrad;  it  is  an  Italian  story  of 
cruelty  and  revenge." 

Harry.— '[jyo  tell   it   to   me,   Dick." 

Dick. — "No,  no;  I  would  not  like  to  mar  it  by 
a  hap-hazard  recital;  besides,  it  is  too  long  to 
remember.  I  have  it  written  down  in  my  common- 
place book  just  as  uncle  narrated  it,  and  another  time 
yon  may  read  it  for  yourself.  Let  me  see;  where 
was  it  that  I  saw  mention  of  Sir  William  Markham? 
Oh,  I  remember  now;  in  looking  over  a  batch  of 
old  English  newspapers  on  the  top  of  one  of  those 
book-cases   in   the   library.     It   occurs   in   an   account 


WOODBOrEXE.  '711 

of  the  proceedings  in  Parliament;  lie  is  rei:)orted  to 
have  made  a  strong  speech  in  defence  of  the  people 
of  ]^Iassachusetts.  The  passage  was  marked  with  a 
pencil,  but  I  did  not  see  anything  specially  note- 
worthy in  it." 

Harry. — "And  nothing  further  has  been  heard 
from   Mr.   Buchanan?" 

J)icJc.—"0,  yes;  I  have  had  one  letter  from  uncle's 
factor;  I'll  show  it  to  you,  it  is  such  a  perfect 
model  of  commercial  neatness  and  brevity."  He 
went  in,  and  soon  came  back  with  an  open  letter, 
which  he   handed   Carleton,  who  read  it   as   follows: 

Cheapside.   Loxdox,  12tli  Aug.,   177~.    . 
Esteemed  Sir: 

Inclosed  please  find  account  of  my  late  coiTesponaenf. 
Mr.  Eichard  Austin  (whose  sole  devisee  and  legatee  I 
am  advised  you  are),  stated  to  date  of  his  demise,  show- 
ing balance  to  his  credit  of  £907,  8s.  G}d.,  which  is 
subject  to  your  instructions. 

Begging  you  to  accept  the  assurance  of  my  sincere 
condolence  in  your  recent  sad  bereavement,  I  subscribe 
myself, 

Most  respectfully,   your  obedient  hua:ible   servant, 
James  BucnAXAN-,   Merchant. 
For  Mb.  Eicii'd  A.  Allow  ay. 

"Xeat  as  a  copper  plate,  and,  doubtless,  very  cor- 
rect; but  not  a  syllable  about  the  baronet  and  the 
priest,"   said   Carleton. 

"And  pray,"  said  Dick,  "'why  should  Mr.  Bu- 
chanan suppose  that  I  felt  any  interest  in  these 
distinguished  persons  ?  " 

Harry.— '' Nothing  was  more    reasonable  than    for 


78  WOODBOURXE. 

liim  to  infer  that  Mr.  Eicliard  Austin's  faTciite 
nephew  shared  his  intimate  confidence,  and  ought, 
therefore,  to  be  informed  of  whatever  pertained  to  his 
private  and  peculiar  transactions." 

Diclc. — '"'Then,  I  am  glad  he  did  not  take  your 
very  reasonable  view  of  the  case.  It  is  my  opinion 
that  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  boggling  after 
this  plaguey  will-o"-wisp  of  a  mystery,  as  you  call 
it,  which,  if  found  out,  Avould  be  of  as  little  concern 
to  you  and  me  as  what  is  this  moment  coming  to 
pass  at  the  Antipodes,"'  with  which  Conclusive 
remark,  Alloway  folded  up  the  merchant's  letters 
and  put  them  in   his   pocket. 

Carleton  was  not  a  little  puzzled  by  his  friend's 
nonchalance.  He  could  not  exactly  divine  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  sensations  which  had  been 
awakened  in  the  young  planter's  mind  by  the  dis- 
closures he  had  made.  Was  it  real  or  feigned,  his 
repugnance  to  pursuing  the  investigation?  Yet,  his 
behavior  vras  in  keeping  with  his  general  character. 
His  nature  was  too  earnest  and  matter-of-fact;  his 
temper  too  hopeful  and  elastic  to  suffer  him  to 
brood  over  the  past,  or  vex  his  soul  with  chasing 
the  fleeting  phantom  of  a  heated  imagination.  He 
was  never  at  a  loss  for  active,  wholesome  employ- 
ment for  mind  and  body,  and  his  "bosom's  lord 
sat  lightly  on  its  throne,"'  now  that  he  was  assured 
by  the  sacredest  of  human  vows  of  the  joy  which  is 
immeasurably  above  and  beyond  all  other  earthly  ben- 
isons,  the  immediate  jewel  of  the  soul,  requited  love. 

**It  is  a  tough  case,"  such  was  Carleton's  inter- 
nal reflection;  "but  I  am  not  yet  disposed  to  give 
it  up.  I  was  always  expert  in  unravelling  tangled 
skeins,   and   see   if    I   don't    vet    succeed   in   running 


WOODBOUKXE.  79 

this  thread  off  on  a  reel.  The  first  thing  to  do 
is  to  ascertain  what  the  Abbe  wants  with  Mr. 
Eichard  Metcalf,  otherwise,  Austin.  That  my  father 
can  do  when  he  replies  to  Mr.  Carroll's  letter. 
But  it  occurs  to  me  that  Monsieur  Conrad  may  be 
able  to  give  us  some  information  on  the  subject; 
at  least,  he  can  tell  us  who  the  Abbe  is.  He  came 
hither  from  Maryland  in  Miss  Littleton's  train,  and 
her  sister  is  a  near  neighbor  to  the  Carrolls',  where 
the  priest  is  sojourning.  Being  fellow-countrymen 
and  strangers  in  a  strange  land,  they  must  be  known 
to  each  other.  Dick,"  said  he,  suddenly  arousing 
his  friend  from  the  pleasant  doze  into  which  he 
had  fallen,  "suppose  we  call  upon  the  Frenchman 
in   the  morning?" 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Harry,*'  said  Dick  hastily; 
"to-morrow  I  shall  be  busy  at  home;  besides,  I 
want  you  to  ride  with  me  over  the  farm.  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  made  sundry  improvements  of 
late,  the  hint  of  which  I  got  from  my  neighbor, 
Mr.  Graeme.  Speaking  of  him,  I  am  reminded  that 
I  have  a  note  of  invitation  for  you  to  a  party  at 
Bonhill;   here   it  is." 

"xl  party?"  exclaimed  Carleton ;  '-'that  is  lucky. 
I  shall  have  a  chance  to  see  all  my  friends  in  a 
lump.  *Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Graeme  will  be  pleased 
to  see  Mr.  Carleton  at  Bonhill  on  Friday  night, 
instant,  on  the  occasion  of  their  daughter's  birth- 
day party.'  What  a  beautiful  hand — good  sign,  says 
my  Lord  Chesterfield,  of  a  graceful  person  and  an 
amiable  disposition.  Come,  old  boy,  wake  up,  and 
tell  me  all  about  the  Graemes."' 

But  we  will  save  Mr.  Alloway  the  trouble  of 
complying  with  that  modest  request 


^ 


CHAPTER  Yll. 


APPILY  Llended  in  mutual  love  and  esteem 
had  been  the  lives  of  John  and  Ellen 
Graeme  f]-om  the  day  they  plighted  troth 
to  each  other  under  the  rowan-tree,  on 
the  banks  of  Leven  Water,  to  the  date  of  the 
l^resent  memoirs.  Goldenly  bright  had  the  hours 
flown  over  their  heads ;  their  house  was  the  garner 
of  the  choicest  gifts  of  fortune,  and  the  neighbors, 
one  and  all,  came  to  regard  them  as  an  example 
of  matrimonial  felicity,  which  the  most  inveterate 
celibate  must  envy  and   applaud. 

But  now  again  the  heavens  are  hung  with  black, 
and  the  future  looks  dark  and  ominous  of  apj^roach- 
ing  ills.  True,  the  entire  country  is  involved  in  a 
common  trouble,  the  same  perils  menace  all  alike; 
but  none  of  her  neighbors  had  with  her  experi- 
enced the  actual  calamities  of  civil  war,  and  the 
prospect  of  another  sanguinary  struggle  between 
kinsmen  and  former  friends  calls  up,  with  all  the 
dread  accompaniments  of  horror  and  alarm,  the 
woeful  tragedy  in  which  she  had  borne  more  than 
her  equal  portion  of  sorrow  and  suffering.  To  others 
it  is  as  yet  the  vague  apprehension  of  unknown 
and   indefinable   ills ;   to   her   it   is   the   present  reali- 

(80) 


WOODBOUKXE.  81 

zation  of  the  acme  of  human  misery,  the  sum  of  all 
the  -wretchedness  that  the  worst  passions  of  the  vilest 
men  can  invoke  npon  their  sinful  race;  ever  the 
self-same  demon  of  wrath  and  desolation,  red  with 
the  stains  of  all  the  righteous  blood  shed  upon  the 
earth,  whether  welling  slow,  drop  by  drop,  from  the 
breast  of  the  first  victim  of  murderous  rage,  or 
poured   forth   in  crimson  torrents — 

W^hen  merciless  ambition  or  mad  zeal 

Has  led  two  hosts  of  dupes  to  battlefielil, 

That,  bUnd,  they  there  may  dig  each  others  graves, 

And  call  the   sad  work,   Glory  ! 

Husband  and  wife  had  kept,  with  religious  fidelity, 
the  vow  they  had  made  to  each  other  long  years 
ago,  and  never  a  word  had  passed  the  lips  of  either 
on  the  one  forbidden  topic.  But  Mr.  Graeme  can- 
not help  perceiving  the  change  which  has  come 
over  his  wife's  spirits,  and  he  intuitively  divines 
the  secret  cause  of  her  trouble.  He  sees  that  a 
great  dread  is  constantly  hanging  over  her,  threat- 
ening to  fall  with  crushing  weight.  Again  busy 
memory  is  at  work,  reviving  th-e  agonies  Avhich  are 
past,  and  filling  her  soul  with  wretched  forebodings 
of  worst  to   come;   again — 

The  field  of  the   slain  rushes  red  on  her  sight, 
And  the  clans   of   CuUoden  are   scattered  in  flight  I 

Every  day  she  grew  more  and  more  nervous  and 
disquieted,  and  her  husband's  anxiety  increased  in 
proportion.  Yet  she  firmly  held  by  their  mutual 
pledge,  and  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  release  him. 
So  it  went  on,  until  one  night  Mr.  Graeme  was 
greatly    startled    to    hear    her    sobbing    violently    in 


82  WOeDBOUK^'E. 

her  sleep,  and  repeating,  in  piteous  accents,  the 
names  of  her  father,  brother  and  son.  ISText  morn- 
ing the  seal  of  the  covenant  was  broken.  She 
unbosomed  her  soul  to  her  husband,  and  earnestly 
besought  him  to  send  George  away  to  Scotland 
until  they  saw  how  these  unhappy  troubles  were 
likely  to  end.  The  request  was  an  agreeable  sur- 
prise to  the  worthy  gentleman.  He  had  a  project 
in  reference  to  his  son's  future  career  in  life,  which 
he  had  forborne  t9  mention  since  the  lad's  return 
from  Williamsburg  some  months  agone,  for  fear  it 
would  not  meet  his  mother's  approval  in  the  then 
agitated  state  of  her  mind,  as  it  required  for  its 
accomplishment  a  separation  from  George  of  several 
years. 

Although  Mr.  John  Graeme  was  never  heard  to 
set  up  a  pretence  of  being  a  very  profound  scholar, 
he  was  by  no  means  so  unlearned  as  to  be  an 
object  of  pity  on  a  rainy  day.  In  all  the  branches 
of  practical  and  useful  information,  he  was  far  in 
advance  of  the  most  polished  and  polite  of  his  neigh- 
bors. It  had  been  his  particular  pride  to  keep 
abreast  with  the  scientific  improvements  of  the  age; 
he  was  familiarly  acquainted  with  the  latest  inven- 
tions of  mechanical  skill,  and  had  been  instru- 
mental in  introducing  some  of  them  to  the  commu- 
nity in  which  he  resided.  When  he  abandoned  mer- 
cantile pursuits,  he  transferred  to  his  new  avocation 
of  farming  his  entire  stock  of  method,  energy  and 
sagacity,  and  his  example  had  imparted  a  fresh 
impulse  to  agricultural  development,  which  was 
especially  evidenced  in  the  inroads  Vvhich  the  culti- 
vation   of    the    cereals    was    beginning    to    make  on 


TVOODBOUEXE.  S3 

the  growth  of  the  gi'eat  commercial  staple  of  the 
colony.  He  was  a  noble  instance  of  genuine,  sturdy 
independence.  He  bought  nothing  abroad  which 
could  be  as  well  made  at  home.  Xo  appliances 
were  wanting  in  his  administration  to  make  the 
business  of  farming  at  once  easy,  economical  and 
remunerative.  He  had  constructed,  on  his  plan- 
tation, a  smithy  and  a  large  shop,  where  carpen- 
ter, wheelright  and  cooper's  work  was  done,  and 
where  many  of  the  implements  and  utensils  of  hus- 
bandry were  made  out  and  out  from  the  most 
approved  models.  Then  there  was  the  '°  ship-yard," 
at  which  all  manner  of  small  boats  and  larger 
river  craft  were  built  and  repaired;  but  the  splendid 
''double  mills,''  in  the  ownership  of  which  his 
neighbor.  Colonel  Littleton,  claimed  a  half  interest, 
were  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  whole  country- 
side, turning  out  flour  which  rivalled  in  quality 
the  famous  Mount  Vernon  brand,  with  its  unim- 
peachable inscription,  "  G.  ^^ashington  I "'  The  par- 
aphernalia of  his  peculiar  sanctum,  the  room  in 
which  he  entertained  his  particular  cronies,  displayed 
the  ruling  characteristics  of  his  mind;  every  article 
of  furniture  having  been  manufactured  on  the  spot, 
from  the  plentiful  supply  of  material  of  maple, 
oak,  cherry,  walnut  and  pine,  stored  up  in  the 
commodious  warehouse  of  the  neighboring  forest. 
In  short,  albeit  Mr.  John  Graeme  was  theoretically 
an  avowed  ■  advocate  of  free  trade  and  sailors'  rights 
in  the  broadest  sense,  he  v>-as  in  practice  as  per- 
fect an  illustration  of  home-brewed,  home-loving, 
and  home-protecting  industry  and  frugality  as  one 
rarelv   meets   with   now-a-davs. 


84  WOODBOUPNE. 

George's  fortune  was  already  made,  as  far  as 
worldly  goods  were  concerned;  lie  should,  so  his 
father  thought,  learn  to  devote  his  leisure  and 
means  to  the  prosecution  of  such  useful  aims  and 
purposes  as  here  -found  abundant  scope  for  active 
exemplification.  As  a  preparation  for  this  field  of 
usefulness,  it  was  designed  that  the  young  gentle- 
man should  perfect  his  theoretical  studies  in  phys- 
ical science  at  the  University  of  Glasgow,  after 
which  he  was  to  visit  and  inspect  its  more  recent 
discoveries,  as  exhibited  in  the  various  factories  and 
workshops  of  Europe. 

But  whilst  Mr.  Graeme  was  no  doubt  mainly 
solicitous  to  see  his  son  embarked  on  liis  magnifi- 
cent voyag3  of  scientific  exploration,  there  was 
another  motive,  we  have  good  reason  to  suspect, 
for  his  acceding  so  promptly  to  his  wife's  request. 
Master  George  was  a  remarkably  susceptible  youth, 
as  the  phrase  is,  and,  more  is  tlie  pity,  had  fallen 
madly  in  love  with  a  lady  who  did  not  see  fit  to 
return  his  inordinate  attachment.  The  consequence 
was,  that  he  had  grown,  of  late,  very  miserable 
and  melancholy,  and  his  father  reasonably  concluded 
that  the  best  remedy  for  the  disease  of  unrequited 
love  was  to  be  found  in  ^^  change  o*  fowk  and 
change  o'  scene.*'  Secretly,  the  old  gentleman  was 
himself  considerably  cut  up  by  his  son's  lamentable 
misadventure  in  the  mart  of  matrimonial  speculation. 
He  was  an  extravagant  admirer  of  Miss  Mary  Lit- 
tleton, and  had  George's  suit  prospered,  he  would 
have  hailed  the  event  with  beaming  satisfaction. 
As  it  was,  he  did  not  altogether  despair  of  its 
being     a     match     one    of    these    days.     George    was 


-wooDBOur.xE.  85 

hardly  better  than  a  grown-up  boy;  his  education 
for  the  stern  pursuits  of  life  was  just  begun,  and 
nobody  could  foresee  the  difference  which  a  few 
years  might  make  in  those  qualities  which  attract 
a  woman's  wayward  fancy.  While  the  fair  maid  of 
Clifton  remained  mistress  of  her  inclinations,  there 
Avas  ground  for  the  hope  that  she  might  be  per- 
suaded to  look  at  the  proposition  in  a  more  favora- 
ble light.  So  argued  jja^<;?/ff??2//ms  on  the  general 
theory  of  probabilities.  But  we  shall  presently  see 
that  the  capricious  divinity,  who  regulates  these  little 
matters,  had  decreed  that  his  sanguine  calculations 
should  be   cruelly   disappointed. 

■  For  the  reasons  we  have,  detailed,  Mr.  Graeme 
consented  with  alacrity  to  his  wife's  entreaties,  and 
George  sailed  in  the  next  otitward-bound  vessel  for 
Glasgow.  There  let  us  leave  him  for  the  present,  to 
quench  the  flame  of  his  ill-starred  passion,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  temper  the  ardor  of  his  patriotic 
soul  by  contact  with  the  discreet  and  calculating 
burghers  of  that  aspiring  and  eminently  loyal  me- 
tropolis. When  he  was  gone,  and  had  written  to 
tell  them  of  his  safe  arrival  in  Scotland,  .  and  of 
the  pleasant  reception  he  had  met  with  among  his 
father's  friends  and  relatives  there,  his  mother 
appeared  to  be  greatly  relieved,  regained  much  of 
her  old  cheerfulness,  and  went  about  her  house- 
hold duties  with  the  diligence  and  grace  which 
were  the  ruling  traits  of  her  disposition.  Thus  des- 
perately she  clung  to  the  faint  hope  of  a  happy 
issue  out  of  this  last  gi'eat  affliction,  and  watched 
with  Avistful  eyes  and  palpitating  heart  every  sign 
and  portent  of  the  political  heavens.     But  the  clouds 

8 


86  TTOODBOUKJfE. 

continued  to  gather  thick  and  fast,  and  every  day 
the  palpable  darkness  was  increasing;  now  the  air 
was  filled  with  the  sulphury  vapor  of  war;  the 
Iievolution  was  begun  in  earnest,  and  Mrs.  Graeme's 
faith  in  the  emblematical  evening  sky  was  shaken 
as  a  reed.  The  hour  was  fast  approaching;  she  felt 
it  was  close  at  hand  when  the  irrevocable  decision 
must  be  made,  and  while  she  prayed  the  more  fer- 
vently that  she  might  yet  be  spared  the  dreadful 
ordeal,  her  heart  indignantly  spurned  the  base  sug- 
gestion that  her  darling  son  would  prove  a  recreant 
to  the  cause  of  his  native  land.  Now  that  she  saw 
the  fearful  alternative  could  not  be  much  longer 
avoided,  she  sought  to  divert  her  mind  from  the 
contemplation  of  the  painful  scene  by  constant  em- 
ployment. In  vain  her  husband  protested  that  she 
was  over-exerting  herself;  she  only  smiled  at  his 
remonstrances,  and  said  he  was  mistaken;  the  work 
was  good  for  her.  Thus  she  continued  to  pay  the 
most  assiduous  attention  to  every  demand  of  duty 
until   an  untoward  accident    compelled  her   desist. 

There  had  been  a  sort  of  epidemic  prevailing  in 
the  neighborhood  during  the  month  of  August  of 
this  year — a  virulent  type  of  fever — of  which  the 
medical  faculty  Avere  at  loss  for  an  explanation.  The 
distemper  was  said  to  be  contagious,  and  every  pre- 
caution was  taken  to  prevent  its  spreading.  Bonhill 
did  not  escape  its  ravages;  half  of  the  servants 
were  taken  down  with  it,  and  the  other  half  were 
stupefied  with  terror,  waiting  for  their  time  to  come. 
Amid  this  scene  of  suffering  and  dismay  there  moved 
a  ministering  spirit  with  the  balm  of  solacing  joy 
and   healing  on   its   wings.      It   was   the    lovely  mis- 


WOODBOUEXE.  87 

tress  of  the  manor,  fulfilling  her  mission  with  that 
serene,  unshrinking  heroism,  which  shames  the  high- 
est courage  of  man.  The  plague  abated,  and,  thanks 
to  her  unwearied  exertions,  there  was  not  a  single 
death   from  its  effects   on  the   plantation. 

By  a  miracle  of  mercy  the  good  matron  escaped 
its  fangs,  but  the  fatigue  and  exposure  she  had 
undergone  in  nursing  the  sick  so  impaired  her 
health  and  weakened  her  constitution,  tliat  her  phy- 
sician peremptorily  commanded  her  to  refrain  from 
her  accustomed  labors.  Thus,  reluctantly  constrained, 
she  sought  the  needful  refreshment  of  rest,  and  sur- 
rendered the  sceptre  for  a  time  into  her  daughters 
hand.  And,  her  father's  word  for  it,  that  young 
lady   wielded  it  in   queenly   style. 

Where  is  the  woman  that  does  not  exult  to  exer- 
cise authority, — in  her  rightful  sphere,  of  course? 
It  was  amusing  to  see  the  old  gentleman,  who  was 
used  to  nothing  short  of  unquestioned  obedience, 
watching  the  little  woman  as  she  bustled  about  the 
house,  issuing  her  commands,  and  showing  her  love 
of  sway  in  a  thousand  nameless  ways.  Especially 
did  he  note  the  delight  it  gave  her  to  move  all  the 
portable  property  in  that  inner  shrine  of  his  at  least 
once  a  day  without  the  slightest  provocation,  merely 
to  intimate  that  her  will  was  the  supreme  law  of 
the  establishment.  lie  offered  not  a  word  of  remon- 
strance or  complaint  against  such  outrageous  display 
of  arbitrary  power;  indeed  he  rather  encouraged  her 
to  play  the  imperial  role  on  the  grandest  scale. 
The  day  would  come  when  she  would  have  a  little 
domestic  kingdom  of  her  own,  and  it  was  high  time 
she  was  learning  how  to  govern  it.     Like  other  vice- 


88  AVOODBOURXE. 

royal  personages,  she  \;s.s  frequently  a  trifle  more 
exacting  and  unnecessarily  fussy  than  there  was  any 
occasion  for;  and  she  never  failed  to  resent  the 
least  hint  that  she  was  in  any  wise  departing  from 
the  established  rules  of  the  legitimate  sovereign. 
"Ole  Missis  didn't  do  dat  way"  was  an  affront  not 
to  be  tolerated,  even  from  Aunt  Dinah,  a  venerable 
dom^estic  oracle  v.liom  her  mother  often  deigned  to 
consult.  Miss  Lucy  was  not  content  with  sporting 
the  tawdry  trappings  of  place;  her  maxim  was, 
Aut  CcBsaVy  aut  nullus ;  she  would  be  the  real 
fountain  of  dignity  and  power,  or  else  not  wear  the 
purple  robe  at  all.  Errors  and  blunders  she  might 
commit  at  first;  but  better  these  than  irresolution, 
weakness  and  vacillation.  First  establish  your  throne 
was  what  she  said  to  herself;  impress  your  subjects 
with  becoming  deference  and  respect  of  your  au- 
thority; learn  to  command;  the  minor  details  of 
administration  are  easily  learned  by  observation  and 
practice.  This  was  her  code,  and,  to  our  thinking, 
Machievilli  nor  Oxensteirn  could  have  expressed  it 
with  more  sententious  and  discerning  perspicacity. 
The  neighbors  were  wont  to  say  of  Lucy  that 
she  was  her  father's  own  dear  child.  In  certain 
prominent  traits  of  character,  as  well  as  in  personal 
appearance,  there  was  a  striking  likeness  between 
father  and  daughter.  The  same  sunshiny  and  mirth- 
ful disposition;  the  same  self-reliance  and  firmness, 
blended  with  gentleness  and  forbearance  towards 
others;  the  same  large-hearted  and  spontaneous  be- 
nevolence; the  same  shrewd  and  penetrating  common 
sense  and  even  placidity  of  temper;  the  same  in- 
stinctive abhorrence  of  ill-natured   carping  and  evil- 


AVOODBOUKNE.  89 

speating — in  a  word,  every  quality  for  which  the 
one  was  noted  found  its  counterpart  in  the  other. 
If  not  the  bonniest,  she  was  the  most  irresistibly 
charming  and  winsome  of  lassies.  Her  figure  was 
slight,  though  far  from  being  fragile,  and  her 
every  movement  was  the  perfection  of  unconstrained 
grace.  Her  complexion  was  a  rich  combination  of 
unrivalled  tints;  her  temples  were  literally  crowned 
with  a  golden  diadem  of  sunny  locks;  her  eyes, 
the  color  of  the  cloudless  sky,  beamed  with  playful 
mirth  and  mischief,  and  her  smile  was  a  foretaste 
of  the  joys  of  heaven.  She  had  her  mother's  rare 
gift  of  music,  and  her  voice  was  melody  itself. 
True,  the  harpsichord  was  the  only  instrument  she 
had  ever  learned  to  play  on,  and  singing  simple 
ballads  and  hymns  was  the  extent  of  her  vocal 
attainments,  but  in  these  her  execution  was  unri- 
valled, and  she  was  justly  regarded  as  a  musical 
prodigy  in   all  the   region   around   and   about. 

Her  sweetest  songs  were  those  of  her  father's 
native  land.  She  had  the  whole  of  xVllan  Eamsay's 
collection  by  heart,  and  she  learned  them  not  merely 
for  the  sake  of  gratifying  Mr.  Graeme's  clannish 
devotion  to  the  customs  and  associations  of  Scotland, 
but  because  there  was  an  indescribable  charm  to 
her  in  the  language  itself,  which  rendered  it  so  far 
superior  to  her  mother  tongue  in  expressing  the 
tenderest  and  most  exquisite  touches  of  sentiment, 
humor  and  pathos.  In  this  way,  too,  she  acquired 
so  great  familiarity  with  the  dialect  and  current 
literature  of  Scotland,  that  between  her  mother  and 
herself,  her  father  was  never  at  a  loss  for  a  pleasant 
companion  in  his  rambles  whenever  he  felt  iiiclined, 

8* 


90  WOODBOUKXE. 

as  he  often  did,  *'  to  gae  daunering  like  a  gliaist 
amang  the  sweet  and  mournfu'  memories  o'  lang 
s}iie." 

And  when  the  morning  and  evening  air  was 
vocal  with  her  delicious  warblings,  he  was  never 
heard  to  lament  that  there  were  no  linties  in  the 
Bonhill  woods.  Thus  joyous  and  loving,  tender  and 
true,  surrounded  by  all  holy  influences,  enshrined 
in  her  happy  home  like  a  pearl  in  its  shell,  grew 
into  the  perfect  form  of  modest  maidenhood,  this 
"so   fair   a   thing,   so   free   from  mortal   taint." 

To-morrow  come  and  gone,  Miss  Lucy  Graeme 
will  have  reached  her  eighteenth  birthday.  The  joy- 
ful event  is  to  be  celebrated  with  appropriate  fes- 
tivities— with  music,  dancing  and  feasting,  amid  the 
hajipy  congratulations  of  her  numerous  young  friends 
and  admirers.  The  invitations  have  gone  out  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  neighborhood,  and 
there  is  sure  to  be  a  goodly  gathering  of  tlie  beauty 
and  chivalry  of  the  Old  Dominion  under  Mr. 
Graeme's  hospitable  roof-tree.  In  those  days  a  wed- 
ding was  the  especial  grand  occasion  for  the  dis- 
play of  cheerful  hilarity  and  festive  munificence; 
but  then,  as  now,  and  as  it  ever  will  and  ought 
to  be,  young  folks  would  be  young  folks,  and  they 
were  not  slow  in  finding  or  inventing  pretexts  for 
frolic,  fun  and  glee,  as  outlets  and  safety-valves  for 
the  efi'ervescing  spirits  of  abounding  gaiety  and 
light-hearted   mirth. 


CnAPTER    YIII 


HE  friends  have  returned  from  their  visit 
to  Bonliill.  A  fire  Las  been  kindled  in 
the  library,  and  there  ^ye  now  find  them. 
The  visitor  i's  reclining  negligently  on  the 
sofa,  loosely  arrayed  in  dressing  gown  and  slippers, 
garterless  stockings  and  open  shirt  collar,  and  enjoy- 
ing, to  the  utmost  degree,  the  luxurious  ease  with- 
out troubling  his  head  about  the  dignity  of  the 
position.  He  looks  dreamily  up  at  the  ceiling,  and 
runs  his  fingers  through  his  hair  in  a  ruminating 
way.  In  striking  contrast  to  this  picture  of  musing 
indolence,  mine  host  is  sitting  bolt-upright  in  a 
straight-back  chair,  with  a  resigned  and  martyr-like 
aspect,  presenting  a  complacent  exhibition  of  the 
loftiest  qualities  of  heroism  and  fortitude  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances.  He  is  gazing  fixedly  at 
the  rugged  bust  over  the  mantle-piece,  and  is  obvi- 
ously  rehearsing  in  imagination  the  part  of  the 
redoubtable  warrior  in  the  famous  scene  where  the 
murderous  club  is  hovering  over  his  devoted  head, 
and  he,  wholly  in  the  dark  concerning  the  humane 
intentions  of  the  lovely  Pocahontas,  swears  a  soldierly 
prayer  or  two  preparatory  to  taking  final  leave  of 
his  senses. 

(91) 


92  W'OODBOURNE. 

Carleton  (loquiler), — "Dick,"  said  he,  "I  am  de- 
lighted with  your  Scotch  neighbor;  was  never  more 
agreeably  entertained  than  I  have  been  this  even- 
ing,  saving  your  delectable   company." 

"xVh,  indeed,"  was  the  reply;  "I  am  heartily  glad 
you  were  so  much  pleased  with  your  visit.  It  is 
a  pity,  though,  we  did  not  stay  to  supper.  Such 
ambrosial   porridge,   such   nectareous  usquebagh,  and, 

0  Apicius!  what  a  hantle  o'  gude  eating  there  is 
about  a  swine  I" 

Harry. — "Don't  be  a  fool,  Dick.  I  hope  you  have 
not  repeated  that  contemptible  saying  of  Dr.  John- 
son at  my  expense.  The  loke  would  have  been 
sorry  enough  in  the  mouth  of  a  clown;  coming 
from   a  grave   moralist,   it  was   simply   disgusting." 

Dich  (paying  no  regard  to  the  energetic  dis- 
claimer).— "I  say,  Harry,  what  a  deal  of  humor 
there  is  in  those  lines  of  Churchill.  You  remem- 
ber?    The   "Prophecy  of  Famine." 

Two  boys  whose  birtli,   beyond  all  question,   springs 
From  great  and  glorious,  though  forgotten  kings, 
Shepherds  of  Scottish  lineage — 

1  forget  the  rest,  but  it  was  intensely  witty  and 
droll — the  part  about  Sawny  and  Jockey,  and  the 
Highland  lass  who  scratched  her  lover  into  rest 
and   sank   pleased   and   hungry  on   his   breast." 

Harry. — "Stuff  and  nonsense.  Churchill  was  a 
coarse,  vulgar  calumniator — just  what  Hogarth 
painted  him — a  beer-drinking  bear  in  a  dirty,  black 
gown." 

Dick  (still  impassably  severe  of  mein). — "Of  course 
you    undertook    to   enlighten    the    benighted    Jockey 


WOODBOUKXE.  93 

on  politics  and  got  a  taunt  of  one  that  makes 
better  fritters  of  English  than  Parson  Hugh  in  the 
play,  *  Hout,  tout,  lad ;  dinna  fash  yer  noddle  wi' 
sic  and  orra  deal  o'  fusionless  whigmaleries,  it's 
fient  a  bit  else  but  an  auld  toot  on  a  new  horn, 
yer  screed  o'  independence  and  a'  that.  Vrhat  ken 
ye  noo   o'   the   steam   engine  ? ' '' 

^'Admirably  mimicked,  Dick,"  cried  Carleton,  clap- 
ping his  hands  with  delight  and  laughing  heartily. 
"AVhat  a  genius  you  have  for  the  languages.  But 
amor  vincit  emnia,  to  vrin  the  daughter  you  would 
learn  to  gabble  all  the  barbarous  dialects  that  were 
ever  grunted  or  squeaked  since  the  building  of 
Babel.     Is   Miss   Lucy   like   her   father?" 

"  The  young  lady,"  replied  the  imperturable  Eich- 
ard,  who  all  this  while  had  not  taken  his  eyes 
from  the  effigy  of  the  Jamestown  hero,  "is  reputed 
to  possess  the  combined  excellent  qualities  of  both 
her  parents.  In  personal  appearance,  she  is  strik- 
ingly like  her   father." 

Harry. — '•'  Then,  sir,  I  give  you  fair  warning ;  look 
to  your  girth  and  stirrups,  I  am  coming  at  voti 
full  tilt." 

"I  accept  the  gage,  most  peerless  mirror  of  knight- 
hood," retorted  Dick,  "and  will  contest  the  prize 
in  accordance  with  the  ancient  laws  and  usages  of 
our  illustrious  and  never-to-be  too  highly  extolled 
order." 

"  Gallantly  spoken,  renowned  Cid,  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
Guy  of   Warwick,   or — " 

"Captain  John  Smith,"  exclaimed  Dick,  with 
emphatic  gusto;  "he  is  my  Icau-idcal  of  chivalry; 
worth  an  army  of  your  huge  iron-clad,  spine-cleavers 


94  WOODBOURXE. 

of  romance.  Where  ^vould  vre  be  now  if  it  had 
not   been   for   him  ? '' 

Harry. — "A  shrewd  question,  truly,  Sir  Knight; 
in  my  opinion,  we  might  have  been  in  a  mucli 
worse  phice.  But  as  Horatio  says  in  the  play,  that 
were  to  inquire  too  curiously.  I  agree  with  you;  the 
Smiths  are  an  ancient,  honorable  and  powerful  clan, 
and  our  John  Smith,  of  glorious  memory,  was  the 
greatest  son  of  Vulcan  that  ever  forged  a  horse- 
shoe or  a  thunderbolt.  If  he  had  only  rounded 
the  period  by  marrying  the  dusky  maiden  he  would 
have  been  the  bright,  particular  star  of  chivalry, 
totus,  teresaique  rotundus!  By  the  beard  of  the 
immortal  Cid  Hamete  Beu  Engeli,  he  should  have 
married  her  had  she  been  a  common  scullery  wench, 
and  her  complexion  the  'shadowed  livery  of  the 
burnished  sun,'  instead  of  being  what  she  really 
vv'as — a  royal  model  of  innocent  simplicity  and  untu- 
tored loveliness, — copper-colored,  to  be  sure,  sed  ne 
nimhim  crede  color i !  Honor  bright,  don't  you  con- 
sider that  to  be  a  black  spot  on  the  otherwise 
untarnished  escutcheon   of  the   paragon  of  Smiths?" 

Diclc. — '-I  don't  jiew  it  in  that  light.  Suppose 
lie   did  not   love   the   girl  ? " 

Harry. — "Answered  like  the  silly,  sighing  Strephon 
you  are.  What  had  love  to  do  with  it,  simpleton? 
It  vras  a  question  of  sheer  gratitude;  and,  more 
Latin  for  you,  the  poet  tells  us,  ingralum  si  dix- 
eris,  omnia  dices!  It  was  most  reprehensible  con- 
duct in  Captain  John  Smith,  say  what  you  please; 
and  history  will  set  a  cross  mark  against  it  in 
spite   of  the   brilliant  renown  of  his  warlike  deeds.'' 

Dick. — '•  He   wasn't    near    so    much    to    blame    as 


WOODBOUKXE.  95 

Tvas  the  pious  founder  of  the  Eoman  colony  in  his 
treatment  of  Madam  Dido;  and  isn't  he  cracked  up 
by  Virgil  and  the  rest  as  a  marvellous  proper 
man?" 

Harry. — ''It  is  not  a  parallel  case,  my  boy,  by 
any  means.  ^Eneas'  work  had  been  allotted  him  by 
inexorable  fate,  and  espousing  the  pretty  Dido  was 
not  included  in  the  programme.  He  was  like  Ulysses 
dallying  at  the  Calypso  isle  while  Ithaca  was  yet 
afar.  With  Captain  John  Smith  it  was  entirely  dif- 
ferent. There  was  nothing  to  prevent  his  taking  a 
wife  at  the  time;  and  to  my  mind,  there  was  poetic 
fitness  in  his  offering  his  hand  to  the  generous 
woman  who  had  saved  his  life,  and  who,  laying 
aside  the  prejudice  of  caste,  was  worthy  to  mate 
with  a  hero;  but  he  did  not  do  it,  and  the  romance 
was  sadly  marred." 

Diclc. — "For  that  matter,  there  was  ever  so  thrill- 
ing a  tragedy  spoiled  on  that  memorable  occasion. 
If,  as  you  surmise,  this  lovely  Ariadne  of  the  west- 
ern wilds  was  so  frantically  enamored  of  our  hero, 
why  in  the  name  of  Melpomene  did  she  not  jump 
in  the  river  and  drown  herself,  when  she  saw  it 
was  a  hopeless   case?" 

The  sprightly  cavalier  was  nonplussed  by  this 
unexpected  turn   of  the   subject. 

"I  cry  quits,  Dick,"  said  he.  ''And  now,  sir, 
explain,  where  were  your  manners  that  you  did  not 
introduce  me  to  the   Bonhill  beauty  this  evening  ? " 

"That's  the  crow  you  have  to  pick  with  me,  is 
it?"  replied  Dick.  "A  pretty  question,  indeed.  I 
might  as  well  ask,  where  was  your  gallantry  that 
you   did   not  pay   due   homage  to  the   lady  in   ques- 


96  WOODBOURXE. 

tion?  You  told  me  your  business  with  Mr.  Graeme 
would  not  take  up  a  minute's  time,  and  there 
you  were  closeted  together,  like  a  couple  of  sage 
privy  cotincillors,  for  two  mortal  hours.  After  the 
interyiew,  you  sent  me  word  that  you  were  ready 
to  go,  and  I  obeyed  your  wishes.  You  did  not 
once  mention   the   lady's   name." 

Harry. — ^-All  right,  old  fellow;  the  fact  is,  I 
preferred  making  my  first  bow  en  grand  tenue 
to-morrow  night,  and  as  I  found  Mr.  Graeme  to  be 
most  excellent  company — "  ('-And  his  wine  did  not 
smack  of  creosote,"  interjected  Dick.)  "And  you 
were  not  at  ail  averse  from  having  Miss  Lucy  all 
to  yourself  in  the   garden,   there   is — " 

Dick. — "Xothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  subject." 

Harry. — "Xo — yes,  Dick;  about  this  Frenchman, 
now,   I   am  consttmedly   puzzled — " 

Dic'k.—''^o  am  I." 

Harry. — ^-  How  so  ?  " 

Did:. — "Just  to  know  what  the  pesky,  outlandish 
jack-a-dandy  is  to  you,  that  you  should  be  taking 
so  much  trouble  en  vourself  about  him  and  his 
affairs." 

Harry. — "Exactly  wliat  your  good  Scotch  neigh- 
bor remarked,  booby,  only  he  was  not  so  emphat- 
ically polite  in  his  manner  of  putting  the  qtiestion." 

Diclc. — "Mr.  Graeme?  what  the  deuce  does  he 
know  about   the   Frenchman?" 

Harry. — "Xothing,  further  than  that  he  is  the 
gtiest  of  Col.  Littleton,  who  picked  him  up  in 
Maryland  when  he  went  to  fetch  his  daughter  home. 
Still,  there  was  no  call  that  I  could  see  for  the 
remark   he   made — that   he   did    not   deem  it   incum- 


WOODBOUEXE.  97 

bent  on  liim  to  be  'speering  after  ilka  sorner  in 
the  hale  country  side.'  The  topic  was  evidently 
distasteful,  and  he  dismissed  it  Avith  little  ceremony. 
AVhat  possible  grudge  can  he  have  against  this  Mr. 
Conrad  ? '' 

Dicl\ — 'Olr.  Graeme  is  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  form  unfavorable  opinions  of  people  -without  just 
cause.  I'll  be  bound  he  has  a  good  reason  for  his 
apparent  incivility." 

Harry. — "There's  the  rub— that  same  ^good  rea- 
son'; but  now  I  think  of  it,  let's  have  that  little 
romance  you  spoke  of;  I'm  just  in  the  mood  for 
listening.'' 

Diclc. — "The  mischief  you  are;  well,  anything  to 
keep  your  everlasting  tongue  quiet  for  a  brief  space.*' 

So  saying,  he  went  to  the  table,  and  unlocking 
a  drawer,  produced  a  folio  as  large  as  a  merchant's 
ledger;  then  having  drawn  the  table  nearer  the 
fire,  placed  on  it  the  light  from  the  mantlepiece, 
and   opened   the   book   at   the   proper  page. 

"'  There,  voracious  quidnunc,"  said  he,  "  the  feast 
is   prepared;   come   and  satisfy  your   curious   soul." 

"Thanks,  my  very  kind  host,"  retorted  Carleton; 
"I  mucli  prefer  getting  satisfaction  through  the 
medium  of  my  ears,  first  and  foremost,  because  I 
am  not  inclined  to  change  my  pleasant  berth;  and, 
secondly,  and  chiefly,  because  it  would  take  away 
the  relish  from  the  repast  for  me  to  have  to  spell 
my  way  through  such  *a  d — d  cramped  piece  of 
penmanship,'  so  take  yotir  seat  and  begin,  there's 
a  good   boy." 

"A  plague  on  his  impudence,"  muttered  Alloway, 
mechanically  dropping  into  the   chair.     "Call  that  a 

9 


98 


WOODBOUEisE. 


bad  hand;  why,  I  can  read  it  like  a  book.*'  With 
which  boastful  assertion,  he  snuffed  the  candles, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  launched  ore  rotundo  into 
"My  uncle's  story." 


CHAPTER   IX. 


iMjt^'^  ^^^®  xVntumn  of  17—/'  said  uncle,  "I  set 
■"^  li^  Q^^  fi^Qni  Geneva,  ^vliere  I  Avas  sojourn- 
ing, for  a  ramble  on  foot  through  the 
northern  provinces  of  Italy.  Traveling  at 
leisure,  I  took  no  definite  route,  but  wandered  from 
place  to  place  as  momentary  fancy  or  inclination 
dictated.  In  this  -^ay,  I  found  myself  in  the  midst 
of  a  wild  and  picturesque  region  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Tyrol.  Loitering  incautiously  to  view  the 
numberless  sights  of  natural  interest  which  met  my 
gaze  at  every  step,  darkness  overtook  me  some  iniles 
from  the  ancient  city  of  Meran,  where  I  expected 
to  spend  the  night.  I  was  on  the  top  of  a  moun- 
tain, the  road  was  rugged  and  dangerous,  and  to 
make  the  situation  worse,  an  ugly  storm  was  rap- 
idly approaching.  In  this  strait,  I  looked  around 
for  the  nearest  place  of  shelter,  and  seeing  a  thin 
column  of  smoke  curling  up  from  the  depths  of  a 
gorge  apparently  but  a  short  distance  off,  I  turned 
my  steps  in  that  direction.  Clambering  down  the 
mountain-side  with  much  difficulty,  when  near  the 
bottom,  my  course  was  arrested  by  a  bold  rivulet, 
which  went  dashing  and  foaming  over  its  rocky 
bed,   making  an  insuperable   barrier    to    my    further 

(93) 


100  WOODBOURI>E. 

progress.      It    was    too    late    to    turn    back;    I    was 
fearful   of  losing  my  way,    and  thinking   it  safest  to 
follow    the    course    of    the    stream,    I    groped    along 
through    the    thick    copse    in    search  of   a  crossing. 
I   had  gone  but   a    little    way,   when    a    treacherous 
stone   sli2:)ping    under    my    foot,   I    lost    my    balance 
and   fell   over   the  bank  into  the  torrent.     I  remem- 
ber  feeling  one  pang  of  excruciating  pain,  and  then 
all    Avas    dark.      When    I    awoke     to     consciousness, 
I   was   lying   on  n  couch   in   a   dimly  lighted    room. 
Two  j)erson3   were   standing    by  the   bedside — a  man 
and   a  woman.     *Holy  Virgin  I   be    praised,'  I    heard 
the    man    say    in    a    whisper,    and    in    the    Italian 
tongue,    'he    lives;   the    tea,   Joanna.'     He   placed    a 
chalice   to   my  lips,   and   I    swallowed    the    contents, 
■which  were  not  ungrateful  to  the  taste,  at  a  draught. 
What  the  decoction  was,  I  know  not;   but  its  efiect 
was  magical.     In  a  twinkling  I  was  so  much  revived 
as   to   ask  where   I  was   and   how   I   came   there.      I 
was   told  that    I   was   at   the   manse   of   the   cure   of 
a  neighboring  hamlet;   that  luckily  the  noise  I  made 
in   falling   into   the   Avater   caught  the   ear  of  a   dog 
at  a  chalet    close    by,   whose    baying    brought    some 
shepherds   to   my   rescue.     By  them  I  was  extricated 
and   conveyed  to  the  manse  in  a  senseless  condition. 
I    was    nearly    droAATied,   but    otherwise    my   injuries 
were  not  serious — a  sprained  ankle  and  several  pain- 
ful  bruises  made  up  the  catalogue.     My  good  i)h3'si- 
sian,   the   cure,    assured    me    that    I    would    be    well 
taken   care   of,    and    bade   me   be    quiet   for   the    rest 
of    the    night,    Avhich    injunction    he    reinforced    by 
giving  me   a  composing  elixir  of    some   kind.     Xext 
morning    I    was    well     enough     to     leave     my     bed, 


WOODBOUEiTE.  101 

although  disabled  from  walking  by  the  injury  to 
my  foot.  There  vras  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait 
patiently  for  it  to  heal  before  pursuing  my  journey, 
and  to  this  lot  I  was  easily  reconciled  on  finding 
in  my  host  not  only  a  kind  and  skillful  leach,  but 
a  most  agi-eeable  and  interesting  companion.  The 
spot  itself  was  very  attractive,  and  the  window  of 
my  room  looked  out  on  a  romantic  scene.  A  short 
distance  from  the  house  the  rivulet  widened  into 
a  lake  some  miles  in  extent,  which  was  completely 
engirdled  by  mountains.  On  the  opposite  side, 
perched  upon  a  lofty  crag,  was  a  half-ruined  castle, 
a  relic  of  the  feudal  times.  This  is  so  common  an 
object  in  that  country,  that  it  soon  ceases  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  tourist.  Each  has  its  store  of 
dark  and  dismal  legends,  which  the  cicerone  recounts 
with  hideous  sameness  of  circumstance  and  detail. 
Of  course  the  castle  across  the  lake  was  no  excep- 
tion; but  having  supped  full  Avith  supernatural  hor- 
rors, I  felt  little  inclination  to  learn  its  history. 
For  that  reason,  I  was  not  prepared  to  hear  that 
it  had  recently  been  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  of  the 
most  harrowing   description. 

'•It  was  the  morning  of  the  day  I  had  fixed  upon 
for  my  departure.  I  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the 
garden  reading,  when  the  cure  came  to  me.  I  saw 
from  his  countenance  that  he  had  something  of 
more  than  ordinary  interest  to  impart,  and  putting 
aside  my  book,  turned  toward  him  inquiringly,  as 
he  seated  himself  by  my  side.  'Doubtless,'  he 
began,  'you  think  it  was  what  short-sighted  mor- 
tals call  an  accident  that  turned  your  steps  hither; 
am   I   not   right?'      The   question   took    me   by   sur- 


102  WOODBOURXE. 

prise.  I  replied,  that  while  I  believed  that  all  our 
acts  were  directed  by  an  oyer-ruling  Providence,  yet, 
not  having  the  gift  of  prophecy,  I  was  nnable  to 
discern  Avhat  there  was  of  special  significance  in 
the  event  to  which  he  referred.  *You  are  wise, 
my  son,'  said  he,  ^to  cast  from  you  the  Atheist's 
doctrine  of  blind  chance;  every  w^ord  and  deed  of 
men,  casual  and  light  as  they  may  seem,  have  an 
everlasting  import  for  good  or  evil;  are  entered  up 
on  pne  side  or  the  other  of  the  dread  account 
book  of  eternity.  It  was  the  hand  of  God  that 
guided  you  to  this  place,  for  a  purpose  which  I 
will  presently  explain.  One  night  last  March,  while 
a  snow  storm  was  raging,  the  shepherds  at  the 
chalet  on  yonder  mountain  were  aroused  by  the 
loud  baying  of  a  dog,  and  going  to  see  what  was 
the  matter,  found  a  man  in  a  helpless  condition 
not  a  stone's  throw  from  the  spot  of  your  misad- 
venture. In  obedience  to  my  standing  injunction, 
they  brought  him  at  once  to  the  manse.  He  was 
the  veriest  wretch  my  eyes  ever  beheld,  the  merest 
shadow  of  a  human  being  in  the  last  stage  of  misery. 
I  did  all  in  my  power  to  restore  him,  but  my 
efforts  were  fruitless.  After  lingering  a  fortnight, 
he  died  of  simple  inanition.  Before  breiithing  his 
last,  he  confessed,  himself  of  a  crime  which  made  my 
blood  run  cold ;  he  was  the  victim  of  remorse.  I  had 
great  difficulty  in  understanding  his  broken  and,  at 
times,  incoherent  narrative;  but  this  was  the  sub- 
stance of  it.  The  man  was  a  Keapolitan,  a  ser- 
vant of  Don  Jacapo  Torella,  whose  family  is  one 
of  the  most  wealthy  and  powerful  in  that  kingdom. 
This  man,   the  master,  was   such    a  villain    as    only 


-^VOODBOURXE.  103 

can  be  found  in  that  land  where  Satan  holds  undis- 
puted dominion.  He  had  an  uncle,  Don  Lelio 
Torella,  a  virtuous,  good  man,  whQse  dwelling  there 
was  as  solitary  as  Lofs  in  Sodom.  He  was  of  a 
somewhat  eccentric  disposition;  had  been  liberally 
educated;  was  fond  of  letters  and  the  company  of 
learned  men,  and  led  a  retired  life  at  his  yilla 
near  the  city.  By  his  tact  and  abilities  he  had 
contrived  for  a  long  time  to  keep  clear  of  political 
broils,  and  to  maintain  a  strict  neutrality  in  the 
struggles  of  contending  factions. .  He  was  a  bache- 
lor;  with  him  lived  his  niece,  the  only  child  of 
a  sister,  whose  husband,  Eustace  Conrad,  was 
killed  in  the  affair  of  Yilletri,  fighting  on  the  side 
of  Germany.  He  was  of  Saubian  origin,  as  his 
name  implied,  and  was  of  royal  descent.  The  policy 
of  Charles  the  Bourbon,  then  King  of  Xaples,  was 
to  conciliate  all  classes  of  the  old  nobility  and 
higher  orders,  and  he  so  far  succeeded  in  this  as 
to  draw  even  the  inveterate  Don  Lelio  from  his 
retirement,  and  persuade  him  to  take  office  at  the 
court.  Here  his  caustic  wit  and  haughty  bearing 
kept  him  in  hot  water  with  the  prime  minister, 
who  was  a  man  of  narrow  views,  of  plebian  origin, 
and  head  of  the  third  estate— then  beginning  to 
exert  a  controlling  influence  in  public  affairs.  There 
was  at  that  time  a  young  officer  attached  to  the 
garrison  of  Castle  Xuovo,  who  was  a  special  favor- 
ite of  the  king;  he  was  known  as  Don  Henri 
Campabello.  He  was  of  English  parentage,  and  had 
entered  the  service  of  Xaples  as  an  adventurer,  or 
soldier  of  fortune.  He  was  described  as  a  man  of 
extraordinary    personal    graces,   strangely    contrasting 


104:  ^yooDBOunxE. 

Avitli  tlioso  of  liis  own  rank  by  whom  lie  was  sur- 
roundeil. 

"^Tlie  King  was  an  ardent  sportsman,  and  in  his 
hnnting  excursions  Campabello  was  his  inseparable 
companion.  As  was  to  be  expected,  this  marked 
preference  of  the  sovereign  for  the  society  of  a 
foreigner  was  very  distasteful  to  the  native  chivalry, 
with  all  of  y.'hom,  except  his  comrades-in-arms, 
lie  was  in  constant  danger  of  open  rupture.  There 
was  another  person  in  whose  eyes  the  young  officer 
found  particular  favor;  this  was  Constance  Conrad, 
the  beautiful  niece  of  Don  Lelio,  and  it  was  soon 
apparent  that  the  old  nobleman,  too,  regarded  him 
with  far  more  esteem  than  he  did  any  other  of 
her  numerous   suitors. 

"'In  course  of  time,  Don  Lelio  fell  into  trouble 
at  court,  having  quarreled  violently  with  Tanucci, 
the  premier,  and  in  a  fit  of  displeasure  retired  to 
his  villa.  Campabello's  rivals,  chief  of  whom  was 
Don  Jacapo  Torella,  now  redoubled  their  efforts  to 
degrade  him  in  the  king's  estimation,  and  with  the 
aid  of  the  all-powerful  minister,  so  far  succeeded 
as  to  prevail  with  Charles  to  order  him  away  to 
a  distant  garrison  on  the  plausible  pretext  of  its 
being  a  more  honorable  station.  But  before  the 
king's  command  was  made  known  to  Campabello, 
it  was  discovered  that  he  had  been  secretly  married 
to  Constance  at  the  instance  of  Don  Lelio,  who 
was  resolved  to  disappoint  the  schemes  of  his  rela- 
tives, wdiom  he  detested,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
dreaded  their  enmity.  The  discovery  was  the  signal 
of  the  terriljle  troubles  which  followed  in  rapid  suc- 
cession.    On  some  frivolous  accusation,  easily  invented 


WOODBOUKXE.  *  105 

in  that  country  of  diabolical  plots,  Don  Lelio  was 
rudely  seized  and  thrown  into  the  dungeons  of 
the  Vicaria,  and  shortly  afterwards  Campabello  and 
his  wife,  with  their  infant  child,  disappeared  from 
the  scene  of  tliickening  dangers.  Aware  of  the  im- 
placable nature  of  their  enemies,  they  took  every 
precaution  to  conceal  their  retreat.  Whither  they 
fled  was  known  only  to  one  trusty  servant,  who 
insisted  upon  sharing  their  lot.  Alas!  that  this 
poor,  devoted  friend  should  have  been  the  innocent 
cause  of  the  mischief  which   afterwards   ensued. 

"'Campabello  and  his  wife  were  naturally  much 
concerned  about  the  fate  of  Don  Lelio.  After  the 
lapse  of  two  months,  no  longer  able  to  restrain 
their  anxiety,  they  despatched  their  attendant,  Guil- 
lame,  on  a  secret  mission  to  Kaples  for  news.  The 
messenger  returned  in  safety,  but  he  brought  with 
him  the  worst  tidings  their  fears  foreboded.  The 
old  nobleman  did  not  long  survive  the  brutal  out- 
rage to  Avhich  he  had  been  subjected,  and  Don  Jacapo 
had  fallen  heir  to  his  possessions.  Time  rolled  on. 
The  child,  a  boy,  was  now  a  year  old;  it  is  said 
that  he  closely  resembled  his  mother,  and  was 
exceeding  beautiful.  He  was  watched  over  with 
jealous  vigilance  by  his  parents;  and,  though  they 
had  implicit  confidence  in  his  nurse,  she  was  sel- 
dom permitted  to  take  him  out  of  doors.  One  day 
she  went  to  w*alk  with  the  child  and  never  more 
returned.  Tor  days  search  was  made  for  them 
without  avail.  At  last  the  body  of  the  woman  was 
discovered  floating  in  the  water  a  sliort  distance 
from  the   castle.' 

" '  The   castle  I '   I   involuntarily   exclaimed. 


106  "WOODBOUEisE. 

"^xit  the  foot  of  the  high  rock  you  see  there  on 
the  right  of  that  ohi  ruin  is  "v\'here  they  found  her, 
but  there  was  no  trace  of  the  chikl.  His  loss  was 
a  fatal  blow  to  Lady  Carapabello,  and  soon  after 
her  death  the  castle  was  deserted.  This  much  of  the 
story  was  current  among  the  yillagers  when  I  came 
here  to  reside.  There  Y\-a3  no  talk  aniDng  them  of 
foul  play.  It  was  generally  believed  that  the  body 
of  the  child  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  lake,  into 
whicli  the  nurse  had,  as  they  surmised,  accidentally 
fallen.  Imagine,  then,  my  horror,  when  this  poor 
wretch,  in  accents  scarcely  audible,  told  how  he  had 
penetrated  Guillame's  disguise,  and  thus  discovered 
the  retreat  of  the  fugitives;  how  he  had  been  hired 
for  a  large  price  to  avenge  his  master  by  slaying 
his  hated  rival;  how,  foiled  in  that,  he  thought  he 
could  appease  his  master's  WTath  by  stealing  the 
child,  and  how,  in  carrying  out  that  fell  design, 
he  had  hurled  the  poor  woman  headlong  over  the 
precipice  into  the  lake  before  she  could  cry  out 
and  give  the  alarm.  He  carried  the  boy  to  Naples; 
but  instead  of  the  reward  he  expected,  he  was 
loaded  with  curses,  and  scourged  from  his  master's 
presence. 

"'What  shall  he  do  in  this  extremity?  It  is  a 
desperate  alternative;  yet  he  is  resolved  to  make 
one  more  effort  to  regain  his  master's  favor.  He 
makes  his  way  back  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
castle,  taking  the  child  with  him.  He  fmds  it 
deserted;  he  learns  the  lady's  fate;  sudden  and 
swift  the  awful  retribution  comes;  terror  and 
remorse  have  seized  upon  him.  Vile  and  desperate 
as    he    was,    he    had    no    thouglit    of    liarming    the 


WOODBOUEXE.  107 

cliild;  indeed,  a  strange  reyulsion  of  feeling  now 
possessed  him — he  could  have  no  peace  of  mind 
until  he  had  found  the  father,  and  restored  the 
child  to  him.  Where  to  look  for  him?  While  he 
was  lurking  around  the  castle,  he,  one  night,  caught 
frao'ments  of  a  conversation  between  the  young  offi- 
cer and  his  wife,  in  which  he  spoke  of  going  to 
France,  to  some  place  near  Grenoble.  Going  thither, 
he  could  learn  nothing  of  the  object  of  his  pur- 
suit, lie  left  the  child  in  the  care  of  a  peasant 
woman,  living  near  an  old  chateau,  and  went  on 
to  Paris.  Here  his  evil  genius  iuTolved  him  in  a 
serious  affray,  in  consequence  of  which  he  was  con- 
demned to   imprisonment   for   life. 

"^After  three  years  of  confinement,  he  made  his 
escape.  His  first  thought,  on  regaining  liberty,  was 
of  the  child.  He  hastened  back  to  the  place 
where  he  had  left  it;  it  was  gone;  the  woman 
was  dead,  and  all  he  could  learn  of  the  child  was 
that  it  had  been  carried  away  by  a  stranger— a 
priest— no  one  could  tell  whither.  Then  he  gave 
up  to  despair.  He  became  a  vagabond  upon  the 
earth,  and  wandering  distractedly  hither  and  thither, 
at  last  is  dravrn  by  some  mysterious  impulse  back 
to  the  scene  of  his  inexpiable  crime.  Ere  he  reaches. 
it,  the  blinding  tempest  rushes  dovrn  upon  him  and 
smites  him  senseless  to  the  earth.  How  he  was 
found  has  been  tokl.  He  had  barely  finished  his 
terrible  story,  when  he  fell  back  on  his  couch  and 
expired.  I  had  listened  to  many  a  tale  of  human 
suffering  and  crime,  but  nothing  in  all  my  expe- 
rience affected  me  as  did  the  confession  of  this 
miserable   man.     It    was    ever    in    my    mind,   and    I 


108  WOODBOrPxXE. 

lived  from  day  to  day  in  the  hope  of  lieariiig  what 
had  become  of  the  father  and  ehihl.  The  mother's 
grave  is  in  the  vilLage  churchyard;  I  had  frequently 
visited  it  before,  but  now  it  was  invested  with 
peculiar  sanctity.  I  went  there  two  and  three  times 
every  week,  always  expecting  that  somebody  inter- 
ested in  the  unhappy  pair  would  come  to  inquire 
for  them.  Time  passed.  T  had  begun  to  feel  that 
my  hope  was  vain,  when  one  morning,,  towards  the 
end  of  June,  on  repairing,  as  usual,  to  the  ceme- 
tery, I  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  a  man  stand- 
ing beside  the  grave  of  Constance.  He  leant  heavily 
upon  his  staff,  and  his  bare  head  was  bent  down  in 
prayer.  His  garments  were  threadbare  and  travel- 
stained,  and  he  carried  a  knapsack  strapped  to  his 
shoulders.  He  was  old,  and,  when  in  a  little  while, 
he  turned  to  go  away,  I  saw  that,  although  his 
carriage  was  erect,  his  step  was  slow  and  feeble. 
I  spoke  to  him.  He  stopped,  and  seeing  who  I 
was,  saluted  me  respectfully.  It  was  Guillame.  I 
took  him  home  with  me,  and  when  he  was  rested 
and  refreshed,  made  him  tell  his  story.  Brieflv,  it 
was  this:  The  morning  after  Lady  Constance  was 
consigned  to  the  tomb,  Campabello  said  to  him, 
''VCe  must  part,  Guillame;  I  am  going  away." 
Throwing  himself  at  his  feet,  the  faithful  creature 
implored  his  master,  Avitli  tears,  not  to  dismiss  him. 
Campabello  vras  deeply  touched.  "So  be  it,"  he  said. 
"In  an  hour  we  start  for  St.  Petersburg."  Here  let 
me  explain  what  was  the  secret  of  Guillame's 
attachment  to  the  young  Englishman.  He  had  been 
a  soldier  in  the  company  which  Campabello  com- 
manded.    On   one   occasion,   a   subaltern    struck   him 


-^'oodbouPlXe.  100 

with  hi3  sword  for  some  fiincied  dereliction  of  duty. 
Incensed  by  the  wanton  outrage,  he  gave  the  offi- 
cer a  blow  in  return  with  the  butt  of  his  musket, 
which  killed  him  outright.  For  this  offence,  he 
was  condemned  to  die,  and  the  sentence  would  have 
been  executed  but  for  the  intercession  of  Cam- 
pabello,  who  obtained  a  pardon  for  him  from  the 
king. 

*' 'Arrived  at  their  destination,  the  young  officer 
was  kindly  received  by  the  Czar,  and  readily  given 
a  commission  in  the  Imperial  army.  His  stay  at 
the  capital  was  as  short  as  ceremony  permitted. 
Desiring  to  be  at  once  actively  employed,  he  was 
ordered  to  the  frontier.  Here,  in  time,  he  won  rep- 
utation and  honors  in  abundance.  Ambitious  of 
distinction,  and  ardently  devoted  to  the  profession 
of  arms,  he  was  in  the  full  tide  of  a  brilliant 
career,  when,  on  a  sudden,  his  health  sncctimbed 
to  the  rigors  of  that  inhospitable  climate.  His 
death  severed  the  last  tie  which  botind  Guillame 
to  earthly  objects.  He  felt  that  his  own  end  was 
not  far  off,  and  yearning  to  look  once  more  on  his 
native  sky  before  closing  his  eyes  forever,  he  had, 
with  toil  and  pain,  plodded  his  way  back  to  this 
spot.  His  prayer  had  been  granted,  and  novr  he 
was  ready  to  die,  and  wished  to  be  buried  at  the 
feet  of  his  mistress.  I  told  him  the  valet's  story; 
he  was  amazed  and  shocked  beyond  description. 
Xext  morning  he  came  to  me  cqnipped  for  a  jour- 
ney— his  knapsack  on  his  back  and  staff  in  hand; 
said  he  was  going  in  search  of  the  child.  His  dear 
mistress  had  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream  in  lier 
angelic    robes,    telling    him    that    little    Edward    was 

10 


110  WOODBOUEKE. 

alive,  and  commanding  him  to  go  without  dehay.  It 
was  an  idle  fantasy,  but  I  knew  it  was  useless  to 
oppose  his  determination.  He  went,  I  fear,  never  to 
return.  You  came,  or  rather,  you  were  brought  here 
more  dead  than  alive.  Hearing  you  speak,  I  recog- 
nized your  country  in  your  voice.  You  were  come,  I 
thought,  in  search  of  the  lost  ones.  I  was  mis- 
tiiken ;  yet  you  were  directed  hither  by  the  Divine 
Pov\Tr  as  the  means  of  bringing  it  all  to  light. 
Is   that   not   plain?' 

"Father  ^Manso's  narrative  made  a  deep  impression 
on  me.  The  more  I  reflected  on  it,  the  more 
earnest  became  the  desire  to  discover  the  fate  of 
the  poor  orphan.  Yet  it  seemed  to  my  view  an 
almost  hopeless  undertaking,  and  I  so  expressed 
myself  concerning  it  to  the  good  man,  whose  zeal 
in  the  matter  awakened  my  warmest  sympathy.  I 
had  no  idea,  I  said,  who  the  English  nobleman 
was.  There  were  ever  so  many  of  my  countrymen 
(I  did  not  think  it  worth  Avhile  to  undeceive  him 
as  to  my  nativity),  abroad  in  Europe,  especially  in 
Erance.  I  had  inet  one  or  more  of  them  at  every 
stage  of  my  travels ;  but  of  this  one,  I  had  not 
the  least  inkling.  'Stay,'  said  the  priest;  'I  had 
nearly  forgotten  it;  look  at  this.'  He  drew  from  his 
bosom  a  gold  watch,  and  opening  the  case  handed 
it  to  me.  I  read  the  engraving,  "'To  Henry  Mark- 
ham,  from  his  uncle  Edward."  'That  watch,'  con- 
tinued the  euro,  '  v.'as  entrusted  to  me  by  Guil- 
lame  before  ho  Avent  away;  it  was  given  to  him 
by  his  master  on  his  death  bed.  Xow,  at  least,  you 
know  what  was  the  officer's  name.'  'Yes,'  said  I, 
repeating   the   inscription   aloud;    'but   it   afTords    no 


WOODBOUEiNE.  Ill 

clue  to  the  missing  child;  if  it  did,  I  should  spare 
no  pains  or  sacrifice  in  folloAving  it  up.  As  it 
Tvas,  ^\e  "were  groping  in  total  darkness.  I  could 
only  engage  to  do  the  best  I  could  under  the  cir- 
cumstances.' 'Go,  then,  my  son,'  said  he,  'and 
God's  blessing   attend  you.' 

'•That  evening  I  set  out  to  return  to  Geneva. 
Thence,  in  a  few  days,  I  started  for  France,  trav- 
eling through  Savoy.  On  the  way  I  fell  ill.  I 
managed,  with  difficulty,  to  reach  the  mionastery  of 
Grande  Chartreuse,  which  I  had  visited  once  before. 
There  I  was  tenderly  cared  for  through  the  severest 
illness  I  have  ever  experienced.  AVhen  the  fever 
left  me,  I  became  the  prey  of  the  worst  dread 
which  can  possess  the  wanderer  in  a  strange  land, 
and  as  soon  as  I  was  strong  enough  to  travel,  I 
turned  my  face  homeward.  Yet  I  did  not  wholly 
forget  my  promise  to  Father  Manso.  As  it  lay 
near  my  route,  I  went  to  the  place  where  the 
miscreant  had  left  the  child.  The  information  I 
obtained  only  went  to  confirm  his  account.  The 
chateau  was  ruinous  and  desolate  enough.  Xobody 
had  lived  there,  I  vras  told,  since  the  old  lord, 
one  Count  de  Villieures,  died,  in  vrhat  year  my 
informant  did  not  remember." 


CHAPTER  X. 


EAD   on,    Dick,"    said   Carleton,  as   Alloway 
paused. 


"'That's   all   there   is/'  said 


lie. 


Uncle 


liad  great  repugnance  to  speak  of  liis  own 
sufferings.  He  had,  indeed,  been  sick  well  nigh 
nnto  death,  and  liis  frame  was  so  shattered  by  it, 
that  he  was  fearful  he  would  not  be  able  to  reach 
home.  He  told  mother  how  intensely  anxious  he 
was,  and  how  fervently  he  prayed  that  he  might 
be  suffered  to  lay  his  weary  burden  doAvn  on  the 
spot   where  his   pilgrimage  begun." 

**It  is  that  thought  which  has  ever  embittered 
the  last  hour  of  the  poor  exile,"  replied  Carleton, 
with  feeling.     '^Diilce  moricns  reminiscitcr  Argos.'' 

Both  were  silent  for  several  minutes.  At  length 
Dick  said: 

"You  have  heard  the  story,  Hurrv,  wliat  do  vou 
think  of  it?" 

Harry  — '•  Oh,  its  well  enough  as  far  as  it  goes ; 
indeed,  could  not  be  better  for  a  story,  as  you 
say;  but  it  is  not  much  to  the  point.  Campabellol 
that's  Italian  for  Campbell.  Mrs.  Graeme  was  a 
Campbell,  was   she  not?" 

i)/c^\— "  Yes ;    the  clan  is  legion." 

(112) 


WOODBOURXE.  113 

Harry. — "But  you  told  me  Mrs.  Graeme  did  not 
talk  like  a  Scotchwoman. 

Dich. — "She  was  educated  in  England,  I  believe. 
The  fact  is,  I  know  just  nothing  at  all  about  her 
early  history;  yet  I'll  be  sworn  that  she  has  no 
more  to  do  with  that  Mr.  Conrad  and  his  affairs 
than   the  man  in   the  moon." 

Harry. — "'It  may  be  so;  but  how  do  you  account 
for   her   husband's   strange   speech?*' 

Alloway  made  no  reply. 

Harry. — "More  mystery,  Dickon,  my  boy;  the  plot 
thickens,  and  I  am  more  bent  than  ever  on  get- 
ting to  the  bottom  of  it.  Aye,'"'  he  exclaimed, 
sj)ringing  from  the  sofii,  and  glaring  in  true  stage 
fashion  at  an  imaginary  apparition,  "I'll  follow 
thee,  thou  ghost  or  goblin  damned,  though  thou 
leadest  me  to  the  Stygian  caves  forlorn,  'mid  sights 
and  sounds   and  shrieks  unholy ! '' 

Alloway  laughed  heartily. 

"AVhat  a  muddle  you  are  making  of  Milton  and 
Shakespeare !     Psha,  Harry,  let  the  parlez-vousing — " 

"Buccaneer,"'  suggested  his  friend,  seeing  him 
pause   for   a  word. 

"Anything  you  like,  so  you  send  him  packing 
about  his  business,  and  proceed  to  tell  me  more  of 
your  grand  military  project.  Bravo  I  that's  the  look 
— every  inch  a  soldier — in  a  dressing-gown!  See 
how  his  bosom  glows,  and  how  he  pants  for  the 
glorious  fray;  how  he  smelleth  the  battle  afar  off; 
the  thunder  of  the  captains  and  the  shouting. 
Vincere  est  vivere !  that's  the  motto  for  a  true 
hero." 

A   remarkable   change    had   indeed    come   over    the 

10* 


114  WOODBOUKXE. 

volatile  spirits  of  the  youthful  cavalier.  His  hand- 
some face  was  lighted  up  with  strange  animation ; 
the  languid  air  and  light,  bantering  tone  were  gone, 
and  he  was  pacing  the  floor  with  quick  and  nerv- 
ous  steps. 

"Yqu  misjudge  me  greatly,  my  dear  friend,"  he 
instantly  replied,  in  a  somewhat  excited  and  im- 
passioned tone  of  voice,  "if  you  think  I  am  ambi- 
tious of  military  renown,  and  long  for  the  fame 
which  is  to  be  gathered  in  the  dreadful  field  of 
revolution.  Believe  me,  I  do  not  aspire  after  the 
trophies  which  are  won  only  at  the  frightful  cost 
of  human  blood  shed  in  deadly  conflict.  In  my 
ears  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  is  a  summons  to 
the  carnival  of  death,  rousing  in  every  bo.?om  the 
*  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain.'  "U'ar,  unless  it  is 
waged  in  defence  of  our  country,  our  altars  and 
household  gods,  is  cool,  deliberate,  organized,  whole- 
sale murder.  In  the  dark  ages,  the  soldier's  trad^ 
was  the  one  honorable  profession.  The  sword  was 
the  universal  arbiter  of  disputes,  the  certain  badge 
of  nobility,  the  true  emblem  of  dignity  and  power ; 
prowess  in  arms  was  the  only  guerdon  worthy  of 
attainment.  But  feudalism  was  unmitigated  bar- 
barism, a  scene  of  perpetual  strife,  rapine,  anarchy; 
a  saturnalia  of  blood,  a  horrible  orgy  of  crimes  of 
the  darkest  hue.  The  institution  of  knighthood  was 
the  only  partial  gleam  of  humanity  athwart  the  black 
sky;  a  feeble,  glimmering  ray  of  light  rendering 
the  darkness  more  profound.  You  seem  to  be  look- 
ing into  an  immense,  murky  cavern  of  embattled 
fiends,  realizing  Milton's  description  of  the  abode 
of  the   damned.     The   necessity   for  an  extra  judicial 


WOODBOrEXE.  115 

mode  of  repressing  cruelty  and  redressing  wrongs  is 
the  strongest  proof  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  race. 
By  the  hxws  of  their  order,  these  martial  custo- 
dians of  society  and  vindicators  of  the  sacred  claims 
of  honor  and  chastity  vrere  bound  themselves  to 
respect  the  obligations  whose  violation  they  so  rig- 
orously punished  in  others;  but  although  they  miti- 
gated, in  some  degree,  the  ferocity  of  men,  they  did 
not  succeed  in  redeeming  the  world  from  the 
dominion  of  brute  violence.  lN"ay,  the  ensigns  armo- 
rial of  this  boasted  chivalry  are  crimson  dyed  with 
the  gore  of  innocent  victims  of  fanatical  zeal  and 
romantic  enthusiasm — euphumisms  for  licentious  pas- 
sion and  ungovernable  rage — sanctified  lust,  canonized 
murder.  Tantum  religio  potuil  saudere  malorum! 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon  led  his  band  of  consecrated 
assassins  on  to  pillage  and  massacre  in  sight  of 
Calvary,  and  years  afterwards,  on  the  same  holy 
ground,  Eichard  the  Lion-hearted  learned  his  first 
lessons  in  the  quality  of  that  mercy  *which  becometh 
the  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown'  from 
the  noble  example   of   a   Moslem  prince."' 

"Shade  of  La  Mancha!  what  shall  be  done  with 
this  profane  iconoclast?"  cried  Alloway,  as  Carleton 
paused  in  his  flight  to  rest  the  wings  of  his  elo- 
quence. "  Oh,  that  I  Avere  such  an  orator  as  Bru- 
tus  is!" 

"Orator?  God  forbid!"  said  Carleton.  "One 
trum.peter  of  the  name  will  do;  it  is  high  time 
some  of  us  were  signalizing  our  zeal  in  acts,  and 
I  glory  in  being  the  first  to  set  the  example.  There 
is  no  lack  of  splendid  talkers  among  us;  they  are 
as   plentiful   as    lawyers    of    old   in    Xaples.      AVhat- 


116  VrOODBOURXE. 

ever  you  do,  my  friend,  I  entreat  you  will  not 
write  me  down  among  the  homines  inertissimi,  quo- 
rum omnis  vis  virtusqite  in   lingua  sita  est.''' 

BicTc. — ''  Orator  or  not,  you  '  bae  sae  saft  a  yoice 
and  slid  a  tongue,'  that  you  can  say  three  words 
to  my  one.  But  I  have  yonder  an  authority  yill 
confound  your  awful  invective.  Eead  what  Dr. 
Robertson  says  in  commendation  of  mediaeval  chivalry 
in  his  last  great  work — the  '  History  of  the  lieign 
of   Charles  V.'" 

Harry. — ^'I  have  read  carefully  every  word  of 
the  book.  History  has  been  my  chief  study  of  late; 
especially  everything  relating  to  the  abominations 
of  feudal  despotism.  Robertson's  laudation  of  this 
creature  of  military  genius  for  its  lasting  beneficial 
influence  on  the  manners  and  customs  of  a  bar- 
barous age,  is  all  leather  and  prunella.  Think  of 
his  saying  that  the  germ  of  modern  as  distinguished 
from  ancient  civilization  is  contained  in  the  bond 
of  knight-erranty.  Why,  sir,  civilization  owes  more 
to  the  humble  mechanic  of  Mentz  than  to  all  the 
mitres,  sceptres  and  swords  of  Christendom.  The 
Prixtixg  Press  was  the  mighty  engine  which  bat- 
tered down  the  walls  of  arbitrary  power  and  freed 
the  soul  from  the  bondage  of  ignorance,  error  and 
superstition.  To  this  art  of  arts  are  due  the  amelio- 
rations of  human  society — all  those  grand  reforma- 
tions which  are  now  in  process  of  fulfillment;  in 
the  institutions  of  policy;  in  the  canons  of  religious 
doctrine  and  belief;  in  the  essential  principles  of 
jurisprudence  and  the  enlightened  precepts  of  gov- 
ernment, no  less  than  in  the  countless  appliances 
of  industry  and  wealth — in  everything  that  human- 
izes,  elevates,   refines   and   adorns   human    character." 


WOODBOUEXE.  117 

"Well  for  you,"'  said  Dick,  taking  advantage  of 
a  pause  in  Carleton's  oration  to  edge  in  a  vrord, 
"that  YOU  did  not  live  in  the  days  of  old  Sir 
William  Berkeley;  lie  vrould  have  hung  you  higher 
than   Haman   for   that   audacious   speech.'' 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Dick,"  rejoined  his  compan- 
ion. "As  I  "vvas  going  to  remark,  I  am  free  to 
admit  that  originally  the  word  chivalry  was  meant 
to  denote  the  acme  of  manly  virtue,  the  supreme 
ideal  of  private  vrorth,  public  zeal  and  religious 
devotion.  But  soon  the  honor  of  knighthood  became 
a  purely  arbitrary  distinction;  a  conventional  char- 
ter of  exclusive  per.?onal  privileges;  a  merely  fac- 
titious order  of  so-called  nobility.  It  was  no  more 
prized  as  the  reward  of  true  merit,  of  courage 
tempered  with  gentleness  and  Christian  courtesy; 
no  longer  was  it  the  sure  evidence  of  substantial 
claims  to  spotless  renown.  Xo,  it  now  became  the 
paltry,  unprized  gift  of  princely  favor;  a  thing  of 
accident,  a  toy,  a  bauble;  its  lustre  dimmed  by 
brutal  excesses,  and  its  guerdons  the  insignia  of 
tyrannical  power."' 

Here  AUoway  made  a  desperate  effort  to  rally  to 
the  defence  of  the  abused  paladins,  but  he  was 
borne  down  by  the  sweeping  torrent  of  Carleton's 
harangue. 

"As  for  the  protection  afforded  the  weaker  sex, 
the  refinements  of  gallantry  and  all  that  sort  of 
Sydnean  rhodomontade,  the  charter  of  knighthood 
was  not  the  first  recognition  of  the  righful  province 
of  woman,  nor  admission  of  the  benignant  influence 
of  her  gentle  sway  in  curbing  the  headstrong  pas- 
sions   and    softening    the  rugged  asperities  of  savage 


lis  WOODBOUEXE. 

man.  This  uncouth  gallantry  was  a  sentimental, 
spasmodical  worship  of  the  impersonations  of  phren- 
zied  fancy,  not  the  natural  spontaneous  feeling  of 
devotion,  love  and  deference  for  creatures  endowed 
with  charms  and  graces  which  make  them  the  living 
fountains  of  the  choicest  blessings  of  society.  Let 
us  give  the  old  paladins  credit  for  the  best  inten- 
tions in  their  ungainly  schemes  of  reformation;  but 
in  the  name  of  true  manhood,  let  us  at  the  same 
time  protest  that  it  was  not  a  marvellous  display 
of  heroic  virtue  to  shield  helpless  beauty  from 
insult  and  violence,  and  to  render  that  homage  no 
generous  heart  could  refuse  to  la  belle  scxe.  And  then 
their  immaculate  tribunal  of  justice,  their  sublime 
code  of  honor,  their  amazing  discovery  tliat  truth 
was  a  Phrygian  puzzle  which  only  the  sword  could 
unravel.  It  ought  to  be  enough  among  Christian 
23eople  to  know  that  duelling  is  condennied  by  the 
word  of  God.  But  examine  it  on  merely  human 
grounds.  It  is  claimed  to  be  the  only  honorable 
method  of  disposing  of  mortal  quarrels  between 
man  and  man.  A  combat  to  be  honorable  must  be 
fair  and  equal,  and  everybody  knows  that  it  is 
practically  impossible  to  put  the  belligerents  on  such 
terms  that  the  advantage  will  not  be  greatly  in 
favor  of  one  or  the  other  of  them.  The  challenged 
party,  Avho  is  generally  most  in  the  wrong,  is  allowed 
the  choice  of  weapons,  and,  unless  he  be  wholly 
indifferent  to  the  issue,  is  sure  to  select  the  death- 
dealing  instrument  with  which  he  is  most  familiar. 
But  what  moral  right  have  you  to  require  the 
injured  or  aggrieved  party  to  forego  any  superi- 
ority lie  may  possess?  "What  rule  of  justice  demands 
that   you   should   take   3'our   adversary's   weapons,   or 


WOODCOURXE.  119 

eren  advise  him  with  what  sort  of  artillery  you  pur- 
pose to  fight?  Think  of  David's  sending  Goliah  word 
that  he  was  coming  forth  to  battle  armed  with  a 
sling  and  five  smooth  stones  out  of  the  brook,  and 
thereby  giving  the  ugly  giant  a  chance  to  collect 
a  magazine  of  boulders  and  bombard  him  to  death 
at  long  range.  If  men  will  resort  to  this  san- 
guinary mode  of  accommodating  disputes,  if  only 
blood  can  wash  out  the  stains  of  atfronted  dignity, 
then  assuredly  a  decent  respect  for  social  obliga- 
tions plainly  dictates  that  the  combatants  should 
end  the  matter  with  as  little  ado  as  possible,  and 
whatever  may  be  the  result  of  the  fight,  the  least 
said  about  honor  the  better.  Honor  can  never  be 
vindicated  by  bloody  reprisals,  any  more  than  the 
blazonry  of  chivalrous  deeds  can  ennoble  the  per- 
petrators of  cruel  injustice.  At  the  best,  what 
merit  is  there  in  being  accounted  a  skillful  or  a 
fortunate  duellist?  It  is  not  Harry  Monmouth 
exulting  over  the  fallen  Percy,  stooping  to  pluck 
the  budding  honors  from  that  noble  crest  to  make 
a  garland  for  his  crwn,  who  appears  grandly  heroic, 
but  Harry  the  King,  as  he  is  pictured  by  the 
divine   artist  on  the   night   before   Agincourt — 

'"I'pon  his  royal  face  there  is   no  note 

How  dread  an  army  hath  surrounded  him, 
Xor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  color 
Unto  the  weary  and  all-watched  night ; 
But  freshly  looks  and  overbears  attaint 
AYith  cheerful  semblance  and  sweet  majest)', 
That  every  MTetch,   pining  and  pale  before, 
Beholding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks— 
A  largess  universal  like  the   sun, 
His  liberal  eye  doth  give   to  every  one, 
Thawins:  cold  fear.'  ' 


120  VrOODBOURXE. 

Having  rendereil  this  magnificent  quotation  in  a 
way  that  Garrick  or  John  Kemble  could  not  have 
excelled,  Carleton  subsided  into  his  former  recum- 
bency 'with  the  lackadaisical  and  insouciant  air  of 
one   to   Avhom   such   oratorical   fiourishes   Avere — 

'•  Xo  more  difficile 
Than  for  pig  to  squenl  er  blackbird  to  whistle." 

*•'  Jupiter  Tonans  I  "  exclaimed  Alloway,  "  what  a 
Vesuvius'  of  eloquence.  And  all  this  tirade  because 
I  happened  to  say  that  you  had  the  bearing  of  a 
soldier,  longing  to  flesh  his  maiden  sword.  I  recant, 
Harry.  After  all,  fighting  is  a  wretched  trade,  and 
for  one,  I  am  willing  to  forego  my  share  of  its 
gory  and  grinning  honors.  Excuse  me  for  quoting 
Shakespeare,   but  it  is  my  highest  aspiration — 

'"To  live  the  lease  of  nature  and  pay  my  breath 
To  time  and  mortal  custom.' 

"Whatever  your  wise  saws  may  say,  death  is  an 
ugly  customer,  come  when  and  how  he  will;  and  none 
the  more  welcome  because  he  has  a  churlish  habit 
of  coming  unasked  and  undesired.  Then,  for  the 
glory  of  the  thing,  wliat  is  there  to  choose  between 
the  laureled  crown  of  the  'hook-nosed  fellow  of 
Eome,'  and  the  scalp-locks  of  various  hues  which 
deck  the  robe  of  the  mighty  king  of  the  "W'ampa- 
noags  ?  And  as  for  those  great,  bulky  bullies  of 
the  grand  carousal,  sheatlied  all  over  in  'helm  and 
hauberk's  twisted  mail,'  sword  and  lance  proof, 
what  were  their  wrought-iron  pastimes,  their  jousts 
and  tourneys,  compared  with  the  robust  and  plucky 
rencontres  of  the  old  gladiators  of  the  Coliseum, 
who   went   at   it,   stripped   to    the    buiT,   and    hacked 


WOODBOUKXE.  121 

the  flesh  off  each  other  until  nothing  was  left  of 
them  hut  a  hloody  array  of  skeleton  warriors  rat- 
tling cUfiance  to  death  itself?  But,  sir,  do  you 
wish  to  see  my  perfect  model  of  a  fighting  animal? 
Behold  him  in  the  wrathful,  red  fiend  of  the  wil- 
derness, accoutred  for  the  war-path;  the  incarna- 
tion of  real  chivalry  in  naked  majesty.  Talk  of 
Grecian,  Roman,  Saxon  or  Celtic  courage  and  forti- 
tude— 

" '  Believe  rae,  prince,  there  is  not  an  Indian 
That  traverses  our  vast  American  deserts 
111  quest  of  prey  and  lives  upon  his  bow, 
But  better  practices   these  boasted  virtues.' 

"Pour  vivre  en  sc-fait  tucr,  is  the  motto  of  the 
killing  trade  the  world  over.  Between  the  hero 
and  the  brute  it  is  but  a  toss-up,  as  you  were  say- 
ing,  Harry." 

Carleton  did  not  deign  to  notice  this  unseemly 
badinage;  so  Dick  picked  his  flint,  and  began  blaz- 
ing away   at  him   again. 

''  0,  for  the  genius  of  Moliere !  what  a  comedy 
I  would  indite.  Lg  soldat  malgre  lui,  worth  an 
army  of  your  mock  doctors;  a  veritable  hero,  whose 
natal  star  was  the  serenest  of  the  heavenly  orbs. 
For  a  surety,  my  Harry  is  not  that  famous  '  Hot- 
spur of  the  Xorth,'  he  that  kills  me  some  six  or 
seven   dozen  of  Scots   at  a  breakflist." 

This  time  the  shot  told;    Carleton  was  half  angry. 

"You  certainly  can  make  yourself  supremely  ridic- 
ulous when  you  try,  you  great,  hairy  jack-pudding," 
he  exclaimed,  snatching  up  tiie  poker  and  making  a 
feint  as  if  he  were  going  to  run  Dick  through  the 
body  with  it.  "You  know  well  enough  that  what  I 
11 


122  WOODBOUEXE. 

have  said  was  not  intended  to  decry  tlie  profession  of 
arms,  nor  to  underrate  the  military  art.  Xobody 
appreciates  the  character  of  a  true  soldier,  higher 
than  I  do.  The  nnsullied  honors  which  are  won 
in  the  field  of  duty  are  above  the  price  of  rubies; 
he  does  not  deserve  to  be  called  a  man  who  turns 
his  back  on  his  country's  foes.  But  the  mercenary 
wretch  whose  sword  is  np  for  hire;  the  blood- 
thirsty creature  v»'ho  fights  for  the  mere  love  of 
fighting,  vrho  delights  in  war  for  war's  sake,  as 
Xenophon   says  of  Clearchus — " 

"Are  all  a  vile,  murderous  crew  at  the  best,"  said 
Dick;  "'the  moral  of  all  your  fine  talk  is,  that  wars, 
like  plagues  and  earthquakes,  are  unavoidable  calam- 
ities, and  therefore  the  soldier's  vocation  will  never 
be  out  of  fashion.  Well,  as  Corporal  Xym  says, 
^things  must  be  as  they  may.'  Don't  mind  my  chaf- 
fing, Harry;  I  know  you  will  act  your  part  as 
becomes  a  right  valiant  rebel,  whether  you  like  the 
business  or  not.  But,  I  say,  v\-hen  did  the  Carle- 
tons  get  to  be  such  a  rebellious  set  ?  the  name  once 
stood   for   loyalty  ^itself." 

Harry. — '-Loyalty,  forsooth  I  First  tell  me  what 
makes  a  rebel  before  you  impugn  my  loyalty,  as 
you   call   it." 

"AVhat  makes  a  rebel?"  slowly  repeated  Dick; 
'•'strange  that  I  never  thought  seriously  of  that 
question  before.  To  be  a  rebel  one  must  have  com- 
mitted treason  in  some  way.  But  what  is  treason? 
It  strikes  me  that  Harrington  made  a  palpable  hit 
in   his   famous   couplet — 

'"•Treason   doth  never  prosper,   vrliat's   the   reason, 
For  if   it  prosper,    none   dare   call  it   treason." 


wooDcour.XE.  123 

//.^rry.—" Precisely  so;  and  hence  loyalty  is  a 
noun  Proteus,  wliicli  no  lexicographer  has  ever  been 
able   to   define." 

Did'.— ''^Xait  till  old  'Taxation-no-Tyranny'  pub- 
lishes the  second  edition  of  his  dictionary,  and  "^ve 
shall  have  your  Frotcus  'drained  in  a  limbec  to 
his  native  form.'  For  example:  Loyalhj—Vi  term 
employed  to  denote  that  overpo-^veriiig  sensation  of 
awe  and  reverence  which  is  inspired  by  the  con- 
templation of  the  divinity  which  doth  hedge  a 
king.  But  we  are  going  to  succeed  in  this  struggle, 
and  then  we  can  have  a  vocabulary  of  our  own, 
which  will  put  to  shame  the  servile  coiners  of 
words  who  would  call  a  whale  a  weasel  at  the  bid- 
ding of  any  Eoyal   Dane." 

Carleton  laughed. 

"Glibly  said,  for  orator  Mum.  Xow  that  he  has 
shaken  the  reefs  out  of  his  rhetorical  sails,  he  has 
completely  taken  the   vdnd   out  of  mine." 

*-'And  when  the  muss  is  over,  and  vre  are  a  free, 
independent,  and  supremely  happy  people,"  continued 
Dick,  with  renewed  volubility,  '-'wliat  are  v>-e  going 
to  do  next?  There's  the  rub.  I  should  go  for  a 
monarchy  if  I  vrere  sure  of  a  dukedom  for  myself. 
If  it  is  to  be  a  republic,  then  let  us  have  the 
strongest  possible  infusion  of  the  aristocratical  ele- 
ment. I  confess  I  am,  for  one,  no  admirer  of  pure 
and  unadulterated  democracy,  and  regret  to  see  that 
some  of  our  state  ccoks  arc  for  putting  so  much 
of  that   sort   of  leaven  in   our   political   loaf." 

Harry. — '-The  current  of  opinion  sets  overwhelm- 
ingly in  favor  of  a  reptiblic.  I  wish  you  could 
see   the   letters   my   father    has    received    from    every 


124  WOODBOURXE. 

quarter  on  this  subject,  especially  tliose  from  Col. 
George  Mason  and  Mr.  Samuel  Adamc.  There  is 
no  disputing  tlie  fact  that  the  republican  form  of 
government  is  the  choice  of  this  generation  of 
Americans.  If  posterity  don't  like  it,  Avhy  let  pos- 
terity make  one   to   suit   themselves." 

Leaving  these  young  rebels  to  their  di.~h  of  pol- 
itics, let  us  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  some 
of  the  other  persons  of  our  drama. 


CHAPTER   XL 


^^^^>^' Y  a  singular  combination  of  circumstances, 
it  so  hajopens  that  the  anniversary  of 
Miss  Lucy  Graeme's  nativity  is  one  of 
the  days  in  our  story's  calendar  most 
crowded  with  stirring  incidents.  Despite  the  evil 
prediction  of  the  immemorial  weather  prophet,  the 
da"\vn  we  celebrate  came  not  in  heavy  with  clouds 
and  lovrering  with  gloomy  forebodings,  but  was 
robed  in  a  dreamy  mantle  of  heavenly  radiance, 
which  made  every  object  appear  as  though  it  dwelt 
in  a  perpetual  realm  of  drowsy-headed  illusion. 
Yet  it  was  in  reality  no  fairy-land  of  shadowy  im- 
ages, enchanting  visions  and  "  dreams  that  wave 
before  the  half-shut  eye";  on  the  contrary,  it  was  a 
breathing,  throbbing  part  of  that  grand  theatre  whose 
curtain  was  about  to  rise  on  the\  swelling  scene  of 
the  v»'orld's   supremest   hopes. 

As  we  were  saying,  the  eventful  day  was  come, 
and  Bonhill  resounded  Avith  the  busy  note  of  prep- 
aration. It  is  the  little  lady-regent's  first  essay  at 
entertaining  on  so  large  a  scale,  and  she  duly 
appreciates  the  weight  of  responsibility  which  rests 
on  her  pretty  shoulders.  Trying  as  the  situation 
is,  enough    to    tax   the   resources   of  the   most  expe- 

11*  (12o) 


126  WOODBOUKXE. 

rienced  adept  in  the  occult  science  of  liousekeep- 
ing,  we  have  no  sort  of  misgiving  that  she  will 
not  come  off  with  flying  colors  from  the  field  of 
her  unwonted  labors. 

Returning  from  his  customary  morning  ride,  Mr. 
Graeme  found  the  house,  as  he  would  say,  turned 
"  heels-owre-gowdie "  from  attic  to  cellar.  Every- 
where the  genius  of  distraction  reigned  supreme. 
Even  the  paternal  sanctum  had  not  escaped  the 
invasion  of  the  common  enemy  of  peace  and  quiet; 
it  w^as  undergoing  a  complete  overhauling  and  set- 
ting to  rights,  preparatory  to  being  dedicated  to  a 
variety  of  unheard  of  uses,  and  especially  for  the 
behoof  of  those  elderly  persons  Avho  preferred  a 
rubber  at  whist  or  a  game  of  vingt-un  to  the 
boisterous  attractions  of  fiddling  and  dancing.  Only 
his  wife's  chamber  was  sacred  ground;  but  the 
self-respect  of  the  worthy  gentleman  revolted  at  the 
notion  of  being  held  a  prisoner  in  his  own  castle, 
and  calling  after  the  boy  who  was  leading  his 
horse  to  the  stable,  he  determined  to  make  his 
exit  from  the  scene  of  domestic  din  and  disorder. 
As  he  was  leaving  the  hall  with  that  view,  he  was 
intercepted  by  his  daughter,  who  came  tripping  up 
to  him  with  an  ^pen  letter  in  her  hand,  and  in 
the  most  aggravating  manner  actually  carolling  a 
stave  of  one  of   his   favorite   songs. 

"Nae  luck  about  the  house  I''  he  exclaimed,  taking 
the  words  from  her  mouth,  and  trying  his  best  to 
preserve  an  awkward  assumption  of  outraged  dignity. 
"Is  this  yer  manners,  to  drive  a. body  out  o'  doors 
with  your  clatter  and  skirling  eneugh  to  distrackit 
auld  ]S"ick;   and  he  yer  ain  dear  faither." 


^vooDBOUR^'E.  127 

''I  am  sure  the  poor,  persecuted  body  could 
make  himself  very  comfortable  up-stairs  in  mother's 
room,"  Avas  the  provoking  reply  to  his  grievous 
complaint 

"In  yer  mither's  room;  a  douce  answer  to  a 
ceevil  question.  Hech,  sirs',  a  pretty  pass,  the  head 
o'  the  family  maunna  hae  his  aiii  seat  in  his  aiu 
house.  That  gate  belyve  I  shall  be  e'en  begging 
your  leddyship'3  permission  to  wear  my  ain  breecks. 
"What  are  ye  snirtling  at,  ye  little  imp  o'  the  deil? 
Let  me  catch  ye  grinning  at  me  again,  an'  1*11 
gie  ye  that  will  gar  ye  laugh  out  o'  the  wrang 
side   o'   your  mouth." 

The  threat  was  aimed  at  the  luckless  urchin  who 
had  brought  the  letter  for  Lucy  from  Clifton,  and 
who  was  detected  in  a  broad  grimace  at  what  he 
seemed  to  think  was  very  rare  fun, 

"Alack,  alack  I "  cried  Lncy,  catching  him  by  the 
lappel  of  his  coat,  and  looking  np  at  him  in  a 
commiserating  way,  "how  I  do  pity  the  poor  head 
of  the  family;  if  he  is  well  nigh  daft  at  the  clat- 
ter and  skirling  of  the  scrubbing-brush,  what  will 
become  of  him  when  he  hears  the  dinsome  clamor 
of  the   dancing   and   deray  to-night? 

'"The   cushat   croods,   the  corbie  cries, 
The  cuckoo  couks,   the  iirattlhig  pies 

To  keck  hir    they  begin; 
The  jargon  o'   the  jangling  jays, 
The  cniiking  craws,   the  keekling  kayes. 

They  deaved  me  with  their  din."* 

An  apt  representation  of  the  melodious  discord 
one  hears  in  a  room  full  of  gay  revellers,  all  laugh- 
inn^   and    talking  in   an   undistinguishable  jumble  of 


128  WOODBOUEXE. 

hilarious  sounds,  and  she  recited  it  "^vith  such 
humorous  efiect  that  Mr.  Graeme's  sides  fairly  shook 
"with  laughter  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  maintain 
his  graYity.  Yet  there  ^'as  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  eye  as  he  chimed  in  Avith  his  daughter's 
merry   mood. 

"Hout  tout,  lass,"  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he 
had  recovered  his  breath;  ^'gang  awa  wi'  your  daf- 
fiu.  Ye  dinna  really  suppose  that  I  care  a  bodle 
mysel  for  your  noise  and  dirdum  and  a'  that;  I 
Avas  only  just  the  moment  thinking  Tvhat  the  gude 
minister  Avill  hae  to  say  anent  the  matter;  he'll 
be  sair  mistrysted,  I  hae  nae  doubt,  at  sic  a  sight 
o'   wardly  vanity." 

Instantly  the  tables  were  turned;  the  mischief- 
loving  damsel  was  transformed  as  if  by  magic  into 
a  ludicrous  picture  of  mingled  consternation  and 
chagrin. 

"Goodness  sake  I  papa,  you  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  that  Mr.  Waddell  is  coming  to-night?"  she 
faltered  out. 

The  old  gentleman  made  no  reply  in  v\-ords,  he 
merely  shook  his  head  solemnly  sideways  and  down- 
ways,  as  the  sly  twinkle  lurking  in  his  eye  grew 
more  and  more  intolerably  wicked.  To  account  for 
this  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  on  Miss  Lucy's 
part,  it  is  necessary  to  remark  that  Mr.  Waddell 
was  the  famous  "new-light"  preacher,  who,  it  had 
been  given  out,  would  hold  forth  in  the  parish 
church  on  the  next  Sunday,  and  who  was  expected 
to  make  his  quarters  at  Bonhill  towards  the  close 
of  tlie  week.  Xow,  there  had  never  been  a  dissent- 
ing minister  in  that  immediate  neighborhood  within 


WOODBOUEXE.  129 

the  memory  of  tlie  oldest  inhabitant,  and  the  preva- 
lent opinion  of  such  a  character  was  far  from  flat- 
tering, or  expressed  in  very  reverential  or  even 
respectful  terms.  Ho  was  generally  looked  upon  to 
be  sour,  peevish,  cross  and  splenetic,  with  an  elon- 
gated, kill-joy  visage,  a  harsh,  whining  voice,  which 
*'entuned  in  the  nose  full  swetely,"  and  with  a 
garb  to  match  these  prepossessing  endowments  of 
the  most  puritanical  pattern.  "With  all  her  respect 
for  her  father's  pronounced  religious  predilections, 
Lucy  had  been  insensibly  impressed  by  the  obnox- 
ious popular  description  of  the  itinerant  preacher  of 
the  period,  and  the  idea  of  having  one  of  the  num- 
ber in  the  house  on  a  day  which  had  been  set 
apart  for  festivity  and  jollification  was  anything  but 
pleasant  to  contemplate.  Then  she  knew  that  Mr. 
Graeme  would  be  mortified  beyond  measure  if  his 
visitor  was  not  agreeably  lodged  and  entertained 
with  the  exemplary  courtesy  and  respectful  atten- 
tion which  was  due  to  his  sacred  calling,  and  she 
was  naturally  apprehensive  concerning  his  reception 
at  the  hands  of  the  more  thoughtless  of  the  gay 
company,  who  might  be  disposed  to  resent  the 
presence  of  a  rigid  presbyter  as  "an  infusion  of 
myrrh  into  the  festive  goblet."  Xo  wonder,  then, 
that  she  was  dismayed  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr. 
Waddell's  intrusion  on  the  scene  of  pleasure,  and 
looked  as  if  she  was  ready  to  cry  with  vexation. 
Mr.  Graeme's  heart  melted  at  sight  of  her  extreme 
discomfiture. 

"Dinna  greet,  lassie,"  said  he,  kissing  her  affec- 
tionately; "'3'e  maunna  mind  my  daffin.  The  min- 
ister will   na  come  before   to-morrow  e'en,   so  Jamie 


130  WOODBOUEXE. 

Gordon  writes.  What  liae  ye  got  there?"  he  asked, 
glancing  at   the  letter  in   her  hand. 

"It's  only  a  line  from  Mary  Littleton,"  replied 
Lucy,   "to  inquire  when  the   Katrine  will   sail."' 

Mr.  Graeme  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  announce- 
ment, but  his  countenance  immediately  fell  as  she 
added : 

"The  information  is  particularly  desired  hy  the 
strange  gentleman." 

"'The  strange  gentleman?"  he  sneeringly  repeated; 
"'I  dinna  ken  Avhy  he's  aye  speerin'  after  the  ves- 
sel." "^     ,  ' 

"  That's  Mr.  Conrad's  aiTair,  my  dear  sir,"  retorted 
Lucy,  who  had  not  yet  forgiven  him  his  cruel  joke. 
"AVhat  answer  shall  I  make  to  the  polite  request 
of  your  huhUy-jocl',  for  snch  he  certainly  appears 
to  be   from  the  way  you   speak  of  him." 

Again  her  father  laughed  heartily.  The  popular 
anecdote  of  the  half-witted  gowk  who  had  such  a 
mortal  fear  of  the  great,  gobbling  turkey-cock  was 
one   of  his  jocular   stand-bys. 

"The  unnatural  bairn,"  he  exclaimed,  "'aye  shootin' 
at  her  auld  foither  wi'  his  ain  gun.  Ye  mind  the 
story  then  ?  But  what  gars  ye  think  I  am  sair 
hadden   doun   by  the  bubbly-jock?" 

"'Because,"  was  the  unexpectedly  round  response, 
"you  give  yourself  more  concern  about  him  than 
I  can   see  any  reason   for." 

Mr.  Graeme's  face  reddened  a  little  at  his  daugh- 
ter's bluntness;  but  his  displeasure,  if  he  really 
felt  any,  vanished  the  moment  lie  met  her  rallying 
glance. 

"'Weel,  weel,  lass,"   said  he,  "'ye  are  na  fur  wrang; 


WOODBOURXE.  ^31 

it's  eiiifu'  idling  o'  precious  time,  if  it  is  naetliing 
warse.  Sae,  ye  maun,  just  tell  the  young  leddie  or 
the  — ." 

"Bubbly-jock,''  said  Lucy. 

"Gentleman,"  continued  her  father,  with  reprov- 
ing emphasis  on  the  word;  "vri'  my  respectful 
compliments,  that  the  Katrine  will  set  sail  on  the 
first  fair  wind  after  twal  o'clock  the  night,  and  he 
kens  when  that  will  be  precisely  as  weel  as  mysel." 

"That  does  not  sound  like  a  polite  message, 
papa." 

"'It  is  een  word  for  word  as  I  got  it  frae  your 
cousin  Ballantine  at  the  store  a  while  gone;  but 
say  it  to  suit  yoursel.  And  now  I  am  minded  to 
ask,  did  you  add  the  postscript  io  the  letter  to 
Geordie?" 

"'Yes,  sir,"  replied  Lucy,  "every  word  as  you 
desired  it — the  message  about  the  model  of  the  new 
steam  engine,  and  the  threshing  machine,  and  all; 
and  I  also  requested  him  to  send  me  the  latest 
collection  of  songs — the  one  just  published  in  Edin- 
burgh." 

"A'  right  eneugh,"  said  her  father;  "'yet  how 
you  will  get  them  is  anither  question.  The  Katrine, 
I  am  afraid,  is  the  last  vessel  we  shall  see  frae 
the  auld  countrce  these  mony  lang  and  weary  days. 
It  gars  me  grew  to  think  on't.  A  waefu  warld. 
It's  aye  the  vray  o'  it,  thae  folk  wha,  hae  maist 
cause  to  be  freenly  and  Christianlike  and  forbear- 
ing in  a'  their  dealings  with  ain  anither,  are  the 
vera  ones  to  fall  out  and  gae  to  hacking  ilk  ithers 
thrapples  anent  the  right  and  the  wrang  o'  this  and 
that    metapheesical    abstraictiou,    so     that     there    is 


132  WOODBOUEXE. 

never  an  end  o'  contention,  and  strife,  and  blood- 
shed, and  destruction.  I  hae  nij  ain  gude  opinion 
on  the  subject;  but  wha's  the  use  arguing  Avi'  a 
Avheen  het-headed  callants  wlia  will  na  hearken  to 
rhyme  or  reason?  I  maun  as  weel,  as  the  saying 
is,  keep  my  breath  to  cool  my  parritch.  Ane  ither 
thing,  you  sent  the  invitations  to  the  gentlemen 
whase  names  I  gave  you?" 

"I  did,  papa,"  said  Lucy;  "although  I  vras 
doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  asking  Mr.  Thompson 
to  the  party;   his   politics,   you  know — " 

"  Politics ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Graeme,  with  some 
w^armth;  "wha's  fule  eneugh  to  talk  o'  politics  and 
sic  like  clishmaclavers  on  a  conveevial  occasion.  I 
will  hae  Mr.  Thompson  and  his  wife  in  the  bar- 
gain; they  have  aye  been  gude  neeborly  bodies,  as 
far  as  I  ken  to  the  contrairy,  and  his  politics  is 
his  ain  business.  I  dinna  care  a  bodle  for  "Whig 
or  Tory;  I"se  warrant  I  hae  them  a'  dancing  the 
reel  o'  Tullockgorum  before  the  wee  snia'  hours  the 
night.  And  now  I  maun  be  ganging  over  to  nee- 
ber  Alloway's,  and  hae  a  chat  wi'  that  young  Mr. 
Carleton;  he  is  a  braw  lad,  and  I  hae  taken  a 
prodigious  fancy  till  him,  not  that  I  think  ony 
the  less  o'   Maister   Eichard." 

This  last  qualifying  clause  was  intended  as  a 
salve  for  Miss  Lucy's  feelings,  whom  he  more  than 
suspected  of  nursing  a  strong  partiality  for  the 
cantie  Laird  of  AVoodbourne,  and  in  whose  ears  his 
praise  of  the  captivating  cavalier  Carleton  might 
have  an  invidious  bearing.  But  the  conscious  dam- 
sel, lilting  forth  a  merry  chorus,  frisked  away 
beyond  earshot   ere    he  completed  the    sentence,  and 


W00D30URXE.  133 

left  tlie  good  gentleman  to  cliuckle  over  Lis  thread- 
bare joke  as  he  ambled  along  the  road  to  "Wood- 
bourne. 

As  ^e  have  intimated,  the  expected  advent  of 
Mr.  ^\'addell  ^as  looked  forvrard  to  as  an  event  of 
uncommon  interest,  inasmuch  as  his  preaching  there 
would  be  the  very  first  occasion  that  a  minister 
other  than  one  of  the  Episcopal  persuasion  had 
dispensed  the  bread  of  grace  to  perishing  souls  in 
that  vicinity.  What  gave  it  additional  importance 
was  the  fact  that  the  rector  of  the  parish,  who 
vras  a  model  of  piety  and  good  sense,  then  rarely 
to  be  found  among  the  regular  custodians  of  the 
public  conscience  in  Virginia,  had  given  formal 
notice  from  the  pulpit  the  Sunday  before  that,  God 
willing,  the  Eev.  James  TVaddell,  of  the  Hanover 
Presbyterv,  would  hold  services  in  that  church  on 
next  SablDath,  and  earnestly  invoked  the  attendance 
of  the  people  on  his  brother's  ministrations.  The 
announcement  gave  rise  to  considerable  stir  among 
the  more  strait-laced  members  of  the  congregation, 
cspeciallv  when  it  was  known  that  Parson  Smith 
had  taken  upon  himself,  without  consulting  the 
wishes  of  the  vestry,  to  tender  the  use  of  the 
church  to  a  person  who  had  been  denominated,  in 
the  choice  language  of  another  clergyman,  "  a  pick- 
pocket, dark-lantern,  moonlight  preacher  and  enthusi- 
ast," and  ignominiously  threatened  with  the  whipping- 
post if  he  persisted  in  his  ministerial  avocations.  But 
the  general  sentiment  of  the  community  vrarmly  sup- 
ported the  liberal  course  of  the  minister  in  charge, 
and  there  was  no  danger  of  Mr.  AVaddelFs  being  sub- 

12 


134  WOODBOURXE. 

jected  to  the  sliameful  indignities  he  had  met  i^ith 
a  few  years   before   in   a  neighboring  parish. 

Latterly,  there  has  been  considerable  pother  in 
certain  quarters  over  the  religious  disturbances  in 
Virginia  during  the  colonial  times.  In  the  calm 
light  of  historical  truth,  they  appear  to  be  utterly 
insignificant,  excepting  in  so  far  as  they  serye  to 
throw  light  upon  the  condition  of  the  Established 
Church,  and  upon  the  character  and  conduct  of 
its  ministry.  They  were  a  contemptible  afterpiece, 
following  tho  terrible  drama  of  persecution  in 
Europe. 

There  is  no  t:-liing,  to  be  sure,  to  what  extent 
the  mischief  might  have  been  carried  had  it  not 
been  for  the  discretion  and  forbearance  which  usually 
marked  the  deportment  of  the  non-conforming  min- 
isters, and  the  wisdom  and  firmness  of  the  meas- 
ures which  were  taken  by  Governor  Gooch  to  insure 
the  observance  of  tli^.  Act  of  Toleration  in  its  ti'ue 
spirit  and  intention.  The  established  clergy,  for  the 
most  part,  clamorously  asserted  their  claim  to 
exclusive  jurisdiction  in  ecclesiastical  affairs,  and 
strove  in  every  way  to  nullify  the  operation  of  the 
law.  The  pope,  says  Selden,  is  infallible  as  long  as 
he  has  the  power  to  be  obeyed.  The  parsons  had  no 
trouble  in  supporting  their  dangerous  pretensions  as 
long  as  they  were  aided  and  abetted  by  the  civil 
authorities;  but  when  that  prop  gave  way,  as  was 
soon  the  case,  the  flimsy  structure  toppled  to  the 
ground  never  to  rise  again  in  its  pristine  proportions. 
Xo  possible  good  can  come  of  the  attempt  to  revive 
the  discussion  of  these  discreditable  proceedings, 
which    have    been     made    the    handle    cf    so    much 


WOODBOURXE.  135 

unjust  reproach  and  ungenerous  criticism  of  the 
Episcopal  Church  in  Virginia.  By  common  consent, 
they  are  now  ascribed  by  all  fair-minded  persons 
to  their  real  cause,  which  was  found  in  the  depravity 
and  weakness  of  many  of  those  who  wore  the  sacred 
surplice,  and  who,  in  their  daily  walk  and  conver- 
sation, were  anything  else  than  examples  of  what 
they  were  sent  to  preach.  Looking  back  upon  the 
events  of  that  stirring  period,  this  feeble  effort  of 
a  handful  of  unpopular  ecclesiastics  to  stem  the 
tide  of  free  in^piiry  which  v/as  sweeping  over  the 
land,  excites  in  our  breast  only  a  passing  emotion 
of  ridicule  and  contempt. 


CnAPTETv    XII, 


HAT  is  Clifton  yon  sec  yonder,"  said  Allo- 
vray  to  liis  friend,  as  they  'v\-ere  riding  over 
tlie  farm,  and  having  reached  an  elevated 
l^lateau  near  the  river,  had  halted  to  enjoy 
the  wide  and  delightful  prospect  Avhich  the  spot 
afforded.  Only  a  portion  of  the  front  of  the  house 
could  be  seen,  but  that  was  sufficient  to  give  an 
adequate  conception  of  the  stateliness  of  the  massive, 
reddish-brown  edifice,  which  occupied  the  sum- 
mit of  the  lofty  promontory,  formed  by  the  conflu- 
ence of  the  two  main  branches  of  the  X river. 

It  is  somewhat  a  fashion  to  speak  of  the  bravest 
of  the  old  colonial  residences  in  Virginia  as  baro- 
nial— a  term  which  is  calculated  by  an  obvious 
association  of  ideas  to  convey  the  impression  of  an 
imposing  array  of  battlemented  towers,  frowning 
buttresses,  and  like  insignia  of  feudal  pomp  and 
power.  Assuredly  the  proud  family  seat  of  the 
Littleton's  was  as  richly  deserving  of  aristocratic 
designation  as  any  quadrangular  pile  of  imported 
bricks  in  the  colony,  both  by  reason  of  its  intrinsic 
excellence,  and  of  the  dignity  of  its  several  owners. 
Still  Clifton  was  by  no  means  baronial  in  the  sense 
in    wliicli    the    expression    is    ordinarily    understood, 

(136) 


wooDBOun^'E.  137 

having  no  sign  nor  token  ^\ithin  or  Avithout  of  the 
lordly  majesty  ^hich  strikes  terror  to  the  soul  of 
the  beholder.  True,  the  magnificent  Lombardy  pop- 
lars, ranged  in  a  row  and  towering  so  straight  and 
tall  that  their  heads  pierced  the  blue  vault  above 
them,  might,  to  a  romantic  imagination,  easily  pass 
for  so  many,  faithful  sentinels  keeping  watch  and 
ward  over  the  grisly  stronghold  of  some  uncouth 
giant ;  but,  as  the  prosy  fact  was,  they  simply  served 
the  double  purpose  of  decorating,  with  a  tasteful 
display  of  exotic  ornamentation,  the  curtilage  of  a 
substantial  Virginian  manor,  and  of  furnishing  a 
noted  landmark  for  the  pilots  of  tlie  various  crafts 
that  plied  up  and  down  the  Potomac.  Its  dimen- 
sions alone  excepted,  Clifton  diliered  in  nothing 
from  its  less  pretentious  and  unbaronial  neighbor, 
Bonhill,  by  which  it  was  confronted  from  the  oppo- 
site bank  of  the  river. 

The  Littletons  are  a  very  ancient  and  eminently 
respectable  family.  Xo  African  explorer  ever  took 
greater  pains  to  find  the  true  sources  of  the  "watery 
Xile"  than  we  have  done  in  trying  to  trace  the 
lineage  of  the  Littletons  to  its  fountain  head.  Their 
antiquity  has  completely  baffled  our  chronological 
investigations,  and  the  reader  must  perforce  be  con- 
tent with  the  traditionary  assurance  that  our  Lit- 
tletons are  genuine  scions  of  the  race  which  came 
out  of  one  of  the  innumerable  cells  in  the  pro- 
lific hive  of  nations  at  a  period  the  memory  of  man 
runneth  not  to  the  contrary,  and  that  they  became 
illustrious  in  more  ways  than  one  in  the  ups  and 
downs,  and  ins  and  outs,  of  English  history.  This 
much  may,   however,  be  set  down  with  positive  cer- 

12* 


138  WOODBOURKE. 

tainty  as  an  episode  which  appi*opriately  belongs  to 
our  veracious  chronicle.  An  ancestor  of  the  Vir- 
ginia Littletons  was  particularly  distinguished  for 
his  devotion  to  the  royal  cause  in  the  great  revo- 
lution, and  was  claimed  to  have  been  the  sole, 
ingenious  contriver  of  the  wonderful  machinations 
which  afterwards  enabled  the  fugitive  son  of  the 
unhappy  martyr  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  his  im- 
placable pursuers.  This  infatuated  "loyalist"  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  stern  Protector,  who  grimly 
nodded,  and  off  went  his  head.  But  on  the  resto- 
ration of  the  monarchy,  his  son  received  the  jios- 
thumous  recompense  of  103'alty  in  the  shape  of  a 
huge  slice  of  the  virgin  soil  of  the  Old  Dominion. 
A  cool  way  that  Absolute  Lord  and  Proprietary 
Universal  had  of  cutting  "whangs  out  0'  itlier 
folk's  leather,"  as  it  no  doubt  appeared  to  the 
untutored  mind   of  Mr.    Pope's   poor   Indian — 

"Whose  soul  proud  science   never  taught  to   strav 
Far  as  the   solar  walk  or  milky  Avaj^," 

and  who,  for  lack  of  astronomical  knowledge,  had  for- 
feited every  right  to  terrestrial  possessions.  Possibly 
he  will  be  duly  compensated  in  that  "equal  sky," 
to  which  he  has  been  condescendingly  admitted  by 
the  gracious  Muse.  In  this  case,  the  grateful  ben- 
eficiary of  royal  munificence  entered  at  once  into 
his  vast  territorial  domain,  and  we  do  not  learn 
that  there  was  ever  a  joinder  on  the  mise  to  test 
the  validity   of  old   Eowly's  letters-patent. 

In  the  after  troubles  which  put  an  everlasting 
quietus  on  the  unfortunate  house  of  Stuart,  the 
Virginia    Littletons    remained    at    heart    faithful    to 


wooDBomxE.  139 

the  cause  of  tlieir  benefactors,  and  being  at  a  safe 
distance  from  the  theatre  of  strife,  they  were  suf- 
fered to  Tent  their  loyal  indignation  without  let  or 
hindrance,  so  long  as  they  abstained  from  commit- 
ting the  overt  act  of  treason  against  the  reigning 
dynasty.  Iso  friendly  remonstrance  was  necessary, 
it  would  seem,  to  keep  them  in  the  bounds  of  cau- 
tious circumspection.  The  bloody  fiite  of  their 
unlucky  ancestor  was  an  efficient  warning  never 
again  to  lose  sight  of  the  favorite  Littleton  maxim, 
^^ Nullum  Numen  aiest,  si  sU  Prudent ia.'^  And 
whilst  their  lips  overflowed  v.ith  cheap  professions 
of  unalterable  attachment  to  their  first  and  only 
love,  they  took  good  care  to  withhold  their  contri- 
bution of  the  material  aid  and  comfort  of  purse 
and  sword,  without  which  there  was  about  as  much 
likelihood  of  the  deposed  Stuarts  regaining  their  lost 
crown  as  there  is  for  any  one  of  the  present  gen- 
eration of  American  sovereigns  to  wield  the  sceptre 
of  the   "  coming   empire.'' 

This  harmless  zeal  for  a  lost  cause  descended  as 
a  muniment  of  title  from  father  to  son  along  with 
the  estate,  and  hence  we  find  in  the  present  pro- 
prietor, Col.  Eobert  Littleton,  an  uproarious  Jaco- 
bite in  politics,  and  in  religion,  what  was  next  of 
kin  to  a  papist,  an  inveterate  highflyer,  the  proto- 
type of  the  latter-day  ritualist.  With  him  the  Stuart 
mania  was  a  sort  of  hereditary  disease,  which  colored 
and  shaped  every  portent  of  the  political  heavens. 
He  was  perpetually  flying  kites  "over  the  river  to 
Charley,"  and  it  was  the  most  provoking  thing  in 
the  world  to  him  that  all  his  neighbors  did  not 
religiously  believe   with   him,  that  the  restoration   of 


140  WOODEOURiTE. 

liis  favorites  ■\vonld  prove  a  panacea  for  every  con- 
ceivable ill  that  could  afflict  the  commonwealth  of 
mankind.  And  he  is  far  from  being  the  only 
instance  in  history  of  such  blind  idolatry — such 
insane  worship  of  graven  images.  At  last,  however, 
as  we  are  credibly  informed,  he  was  entirely  cured 
of  his  innate  disorder.  After  the  victory  of  York- 
town  the  conviction  suddenly  dawned  upon  him 
that  the  declaration  of  the  United  Colonies  meant 
what  it  said — a  plague  on  both  your  houses.  Then 
the  cherished  vision  melted  into  thin  air;  he  sub- 
mitted graciously  to  the  irreversible  decree,  aban- 
doned the  land  of  his  forefathers  to  its  ignomini- 
ous fate,  joined  heartily  in  the  universal  "all  hail" 
to  the  rising  star  of  the  Western  Hemisphere,  and 
became  in  the  end  a  blatant  disciple  of  the 
most  advanced  school  of  progressive  democracy.  But 
we  anticipate. 

Notwithstanding  his  objectionable  politics.  Col. 
Kobert  Littleton  was  generally  esteemed  among  his 
neighbors  for  possessing  in  a  marked  degree  the 
amiable  traits,  rough  and  ready  manners,  and  really 
hospitable  disposition,  which  characterized  his  ideal 
standard  of  excellence  in  an  opulent  country  gen- 
tleman, as  he  is  portrayed  to  the  life  in  Fielding's 
inimitable  page.  There  was  one  insuperable  obstacle 
m  the  way  of  Col.  Littleton  in  his  attempt  to  play 
the  part  of  his  illustrious  pattern  and  exemplar 
with  complete  success.  He  had  no  foils  to  set  off 
to  advantage  the  salient  points  of  imaginary  resem- 
blance. The  estimable  schoolmaster,  who  had  taken 
his  degrees  at  the  L^niversity  of  Glasgow,  and  who 
was   a   Presbyterian    of    the    straitest    sect,   had    his 


TVOODBOUEXE.  141 

0"«'n  orthodox  notions  concerning  the  unalterable 
rule  of  right  and  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  and 
the  S3  he  inculcated,  with  equal  impartiality  and  due 
regard  for  the  scriptural  injunction,  on  the  deli- 
cate sprigs  of  the  house  of  Littleton  and  the 
unkempt  offspring  of  the  commune  pecus.  And  so 
for  from  favoring  the  soi-disaiit  squires'  pretentions  to 
be  considered  the  royal  yice-gerent  of  the  parish 
in  ecclesiastical  matters,  good  Parson  Smith  never 
once  thought  of  consulting  him  in  reference  to  the 
text  or  duration  of  the  hebdomadal  discourse,  nor 
of  inquiring  into  the  nature  of  the  dreams  that 
hovered  above  his  cushioned  dormitory  in  the 
chancel.  Yet  he  not  only  sent  his  sons  regularly 
every  five  days  in  the  -week  to  the  old-field  school, 
-which  "v\-a3  presided  orer  by  the  heretical  Orbilius, 
btit  maintained  the  most  amicable  relations  with 
the  minister,  paying  his  dues  ptmctually  in  good 
current  tobacco,  and  quite  satisfied  with  descanting 
on  the  affiirs  of  the  Chtirch  at  each  stated  vestry 
meeting.  Tor  the  rest,  Squire  Littleton,  as  he  came 
at  last  to  be  dubbed  by  the  commonalty,  dispensed 
a  generous  hospitality  in  his  own  house,  was  no 
laggard  in  partaking  of  the  good  cheer  of  his 
neighbors,  and  bore  his  full  share  in  every  project 
which  was  put  forward  to  promote  the  general  wel- 
fiire   of  the   community. 

The  master  of  Clifton  is  a  widower,  his  wife 
being  dead  years  ago.  His  household  is  presided 
over  by  Miss  Theodora  Littleton,  who  is  so  much 
older  than  her  brother  that  she  may  be  said  to 
have  reached  the  indefinable  age  at  which  the  most 
sanguine  of  superannuated  maidens  become  reconciled 


142  WOODBOURXE. 

to  the  liarsli  allotment,  T\-liicli  condemns  them  to 
wither  on  the  virgin  thorn  in  unpitied  desolation. 
Of  this  pattern  of  spinsters,  we  have  only  one  other 
remark  to  make  before  she  drifts  ont  of  sight  like 
a  sobby  log  on  the  swift  running  stream  of  our 
eventful  story.  She  was,  from  all  accounts,  an 
admirable  housekeeper,  considering  that  she  never 
had,  a  house  of  her  own  to  keep,  swayed  the  rod 
of  domestic  empire  with  a  firm  and  even  hand, 
and  devoted  the  hours  she  had  to  spare  from  the 
cares  of  office  to  the  ungrateful  task  of  endeavor- 
ing to  inspire  her  willful  niece  with  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  tastes  and  fashions  which  obtained  a 
quarter  of  a  century  before  the  young  lady  was 
born.  To  Miss  Mary  Littleton,  "queen-rose  of  the 
rose-bud  garden  of  girls,"  our  devoirs  will  be  paid 
in  due  season.  The  only  other  inmate  of  the  man- 
sion at  present  is  the  stranger  guest,  whose  arrival 
seems  to  have  created  no  little  commotion  in  the 
usually  quiet  neighborhood.  Col.  Littleton  has 
anotlier  daughter,  v>'ho  is  married,  and  lives  in  t^ie 
vicinity  of  Doughoregan  Manor,  in  the  Province  of 
Maryland,  and  two  sons,  who  are  off  somewhere  at 
school. 

During  tliis  interesting  digression,  Carleton  has 
had  ample  leisure  for  an  exhaustive  survey  of  the 
premises.  From  looking  at  the  old  hou.-e,  his  eye 
roves  pleasantly  over  the  fascinations  of  the  sur- 
rounding scene.  Presently  he  appears  to  be  gazing 
intently  at  some  object  on  the  water  in  front  of 
him.  It  was  the  veriest  mite  of  a  row-boat,  which 
a  boy,  with  deft  and  graceful  strokes,  was  making 
to   fly  over   the   water  with   amazing  rapidity. 


WOODBOURXE.  143 

"Tliere  goes  your  young  sportsman,  Dick,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Alloway,  *''  that  is  Archie,  with  his 
inseparable  ritie;  but  I  was  looking  at  that  fellow 
yonder  in  the  skiff — a  sailor  evidently.  He  must  be« 
one  of  the  Katrine's  crew;  what  can  he  want 
here  ? '' 

The  man's  appearance  was  eccentric,  not  to  say 
suspicious.  He  was  creeping  cautiously  along  under 
the  shadow  of  the  boughs  which  overhung  the 
stream,  as  if  anxious  to  screen  himself  from  obser- 
vation, and  was  plainly  watching  the  movements  of 
the  other  little  craft.  While  AUoway  was  speaking, 
the  latter  was  headed  for  the  landing  at  Clifton, 
seeing  which,  tlie  man  ran  the  skiff  ashore,  and, 
jumping  out,   disappeared  in  the   wood. 

"  Deserted  from  his  majesty's  service  afloat,  is  what 
that   means,   Dick,"   said   Carleton. 

**'Very  likely,"  replied  Alloway.  "Hallo,  Harry, 
there  they  are,"  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  in  the  direc- 
tion  of  Clifton.; 

A  momentary  glance  revealed  two  figures  on  horse- 
back— a  lady  and  gentleman — as  they  dashed  around 
the  great  circle  in  front  of  the  house  and  disap- 
peared in  the  mouth  of  the  splendid  avenue  of 
native  poplars  and  cedars,  which  conducted  them 
out  by  the   main   entrance   on   the   highway. 

"My  fair  cousin,  I  am  pleased  to  see,"  continued 
Mr.  Eichard,  in  a  tone  which  was  intended 
to  convey  the  keenest  irony  and  most  superlative 
contempt,  "has  at  last  succeeded  in  finding  a  con- 
genial companion  in  her  equestrian  excursions.  She 
will  not  have  a  chance  to  decline  the  civility  from 
me  in   a.  hurrv,   will   she   Don  ? "  (patting    the    sym- 


IM  WOODBOUENE. 

pathizing  sorrel  caressingly  on  the  neck).  ''  Come, 
Harry,   let  iis   go." 

Eunning  his  eyes  again  hurriedly  over  the  sur- 
rounding scene,  Carleton,  gathering  up  the  reins, 
turned   and  followed   his   companion. 

"It  is  a  humiliating  confession,  Dickon,  my  boy,'' 
said  he,  taking  up  the  disagreeable  topic.  "The 
Cheyalier  Conrad  has  the  insidt  track  of  us  coun- 
try bumpkins.  Of  course  they  vrill  be  of  the  party 
at  Bonhill   to-night?" 

"Having  been  asked,"  replied  Dick,  mechanically, 
"I   know   of  no   reason   why   they    should    not    go." 

"Then,"  said  Carleton,  "I  mean  to  tax  my  wits 
to  the  utmost  but  what  I  will  learn  all  that  is 
to  be  known  about  this  gay  pri.nce  Florize-1,  who 
comes  masquerading  here,  to  the  dismay  of  the 
native   chivalry." 

"Yon  can  do  as  you  like,"  replied  Dick;  "for 
my  part,  I  wish  Miss  Littleton  joy  of  her  con- 
quest, and  hope  she  will  have  the  good  taste  not 
to   gratify  your   impertinent   curiosity." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  my  pink  of  good  manners," 
said  Carleton,  acknowledging  the  civil  speech  with 
his  best  bow.  "  Then  I  am  to  expect  neither  help 
nor  favor  from  you.  N^imporfc;  I'll  wage  the  fight 
single-handed  and  alone,  and  the  honor  of  the  victory 
will  be  wholly  mine.  But  why  are  you  so  ven- 
omously spiteful  towards  your  cousin  Mary?  Every- 
body says  she  is  very  beautiful,  and  many  sensible 
people  have  told  me  it  was  next  to  impossible  to 
resist  her  fascinating  ways." 

Dick. — "Did  you   never   see   her?" 

Harry. — "Yes;  once  when  we  were  both  mere 
children   I   remember    cfoinc:   with   mv   motlier    on    a 


WOODBOURXE.  145 

visit  to  CiiftoD ;  she  -^-as  then  a  little  brown,  hazel- 
eyed  chit  ill  a  pinafore  and  pantalettes,  and,  as  I 
thought,  with  a  considerable  touch  of  the  tiger  in 
her  composition.  "We  had  a  pitched  battle  over  my 
whip-top,  and  she  used  her  claws  to  such  good  pur- 
pose that  my  face  and  hands  smart  at  the  men- 
tion of  it  to  this  day.  From  which  early  experience 
of  her  mettle,  I  would  hazard  the  opinion  that 
Miss  Littleton  is,  at  all  events,  a  decidedly  plucky 
girl   in   addition   to   her   personal   charms." 

Dich  (frowning  majestically). — "She  certainly  does 
not  lack  for  beauty,  and  is,  morever,  as  they  say, 
very  brilliant  in  conversation,  manners,  and  all  that; 
nevertheless,  I  believe  she  is  an  artful,  designing, 
heartless   coquette." 

Harry. — "An  artful,  designing,  heartless  coquette! 
You   shock  me  beyond  expression — 

"  '  With  every  pleasing,   every  prudent  part, 

Say,  what  does  Cliloe  want?    Slie  wants  a  heart  I' 

A  sad  want  truly.  Who  reign's  o'er  hearts,  should 
surely  have  a  heart,  and  a  big  one  at  that.  This 
is  a  terrible  accusation  vou  brino^  asrainst  the  *  famed 

Belinda'    of    AV shire.     Are    yon    prepared    with 

the  proofs?  "\Miere  are  the  horrid  witnesses  of  her 
inhuman  cruelty?  'Wliere  the  bleached  bones  of  the 
wretched  victims  whom  this  syren  has  lured  to 
their  untimely  doom?  Come,  I  insist  on  your  at 
once  producing  the  corpus  delicti,  as  the  lawyers 
say,  else  the  lady  is  acquitted,  and  you  stand  in 
the  pillory  for  rank  perjury.  "What,  dumb  as  an 
oyster?  It  is  then  even  as  I  conjectured — you  can't 
show  so  much  as  the  metacarpal  of  a  milk-sop 
who   has   been    brained   with   my  lady's   fan." 

13 


146  WOODBOUENE. 

The  whole  of  this  humorous  sally  Avas  lost  on 
Mr.  Richard  Alloway;  he  had,  in  the  middle  of  it, 
taken  to  whistling  after  his  peculiarly  dolorous 
fashion,  not  indeed,  like  the  love-lorn  lout,  for  want 
of  thought,  but  as  a  running  accompaniment  to 
certain  unpleasant   cogitations. 

*' Since  she  is  disposed  of,"  he  saiil,  musingly, 
"I  wonder  vrho  of  the  lovely  dears  will  next  set 
up  for  a  reigning  belle  on  the  stock-in-trade  of 
her  ladyship's  lavings,  to  borrow  Mike's  expression. 
Mike  was  one  day  giving  me  a  graphic  description 
of  the  heartless  exactions  of  some  of  the  landed 
gentry  in  Ireland.  '  Och,  ^Misther  Dick,'  said  he, 
'they  be  like  the  locusscs  of  Aigypt  that  Miss- 
thress  Murchieson  (who  is  }.Iike's  better  half)  was 
radmg  to  me  about  out  of  the  Good  Book;  they 
ates  up  everything  as  clane  as  the  deck  of  a  man- 
o'-war,   and   gives   the   lavings   to   the   poor.' '' 

Carleton   laughed. 

''Pray,  vrlio  is  this  Mike  I  have  heard  you  quote 
so   often?"   he   asked. 

"Mike  Burke,"  cried  Alloway,  seizing  upon  the 
diverting  theme  with  surprising  avidity.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible I  have  never  told  you  of  my  Milesian  treas- 
ure, the  most  waggishly  humorous  and  irresistibly 
droll  of  the  blundering  tribe  of  St.  Patrick.  Let 
me  see,  hang  me,  if  I  know  much  more  of  Mike's 
juvenile   days   than   I   do   of — ," 

"The  black-eyed  trotibador's,"  said  Carleton  smil- 
ing, as  he  pointed  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direc- 
tion  of  Clifton. 

"The  devil,"  quoth  Dick.  "However,  its  of  no 
consequenc?;  ho  vras  sufficiently  well  accredited  when 


"WOODBOUP.XE.  147 

he  came  here,  and  has  since  given  hostages  for  his 
future  good  behavior.  It  was  I  who  got  him  his 
wife.  Mike,  you  must  know,  is  a  sailor,  a  genuine 
old,  weather-beaten  son  of  Xeptune,  with  a  hand  of 
iron,  and  a  heart — I  was  about  to  say  of  oak,  but 
I  know  it  to  be  as  soft  as  a  woman's.  There  is 
no  place  from  China  to  Peru  he  has  not  visited; 
he  was  with  Captain  Byron  in  his  last  cruise,  and 
sailed  with  Captain  Cook  in  his  first  voyage  around 
the  world;  and  you  should  hear  him  tell  of  the 
wonders  he  saw  'ayont  the  antipodes.'  But  don't 
intimate  a  doubt  of  his  veracity  if  you  value  his 
friendship.  "Well,  he  was  picked  up  somewhere  by 
the  skipper  of  the  Katrine,  with  whom  he  made 
one  or  two  trips — I  forget  exactly  how  many — to 
Virginia.  In  one  of  these  flying  visits  he  saw, 
loved  and  cottrted  in  true  sailor  style,  the  buxom 
widow  Murchieson,  whose  late  htisband  had  been  a 
tenant  of  Mr.  Graeme,  and  may  be  his  Scotch  red- 
cousin  in  the  eleventh  degree.  The  widow  liked 
Mike  well  enough  to  marry  him,  but  unluckily 
she,  in  a  gush  of  sorrowful  good  nature,  promised 
her  deceased  spouse  that  she  would  not  take  that 
perilous  leap  in  the  dark  a  second  time  without 
having  obtained  the  consent  and  benison  of  Mr. 
Graeme,  and,  for  what  reason  I  could  never  rightly 
comprehend,  the  old  gentleman  positively  forbade 
the  banns,  or  what  amounted  to  the  same  thing, 
he  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter. Mrs.  Mtirchieson,  he  said,  was  old  enough  to 
choose  a  husband  for  herself,  and  he  knew  nothing 
whatever,  good  or  bad,  of  this  wandering  Jew  of 
an  Irishman." 


lis  AVOODBOUEXE. 

'•'I  am  sure  that  was  reason  a  plenty  for  his 
refusal,'"'   suggested   Carleton. 

'•'For  Mr.  Graeme,  res;  but  it  did  not  satisfy 
me.  I  hud  conceived  a  strong  passion  for  Mike, 
and  he  "^as  so  bent  on  giving  over  his  nomadic, 
sea-faring  life,  and  spending  the  rest  of  his  days 
in  peace  and  quiet  under  the  "R-idow's  tempting 
vine  and  fig  tree,  that  I  got  liis  captain  to  go 
-with  me  to  see  Mr.  Graeme  and  intercede  in  his 
behalf.  After  considerable  j^ersuasion  on  our  part, 
and  an  earnest  appeal  from  Miss  Lucy,  he  at  length 
relented  and  signed  the  paper  I  had  prejxared,  say- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  in  his  cautious  manner:  'AVeel, 
"weel,  lads,  Dame  Murchieson  maun  gang  her  ain 
gate,  that  is,  Y>i'  my  permission,  and  gin  she  finds 
to  her  dool  slie  has  forgathered  v:i  a  beggar,  she 
maun  mak*  the  maist  o'  a  bad  bargain;  she  kens  the 
proverb  v.ell  enough.'  Mike  was  happy,  so  was  tlie 
widow,  an -I  from  that  day  we  have  been  fast  friends. 
But  I  have  never  been  able  to  correct  one  bad 
habit  in  Mike.  He  will  persist  in  calling  Mr. 
Graeme  -yer  riverence.'  Doubtless  he  intends  thereby 
the  highest  possible  respect;  but  the  worthy  gen- 
tleman does  not  like  the  idea  of  being  taken  for 
a  papist  priest,  although  he  has  not  the  holy  horror 
of   popery  that   some  people   profess." 

Harry. — **'IIow  has  your  interesting  old  sea-dog 
fared   ashore  ? '"' 

Dick. — '-'Oh.  he  is  a  very  model  of  hen-pecked 
Benedicts.  Like  a  good  many  others  who  have 
weathered  that  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  he  found  the 
land  he  had  reached  was  far  from  being  the  'cloud- 
less Olympus'  of  a  lover's  fancy.     Mrs.   Murchieson, 


WOODBOURXE.  149 

as  he  still  calls  liis  wife,  has  her  little  pilfering 
tempers,  and  when  thoroughly  roused,  her  wrath, 
says  Mike,  is  tenfold  worse  than  the  raging  sea. 
But  he  has  his  boat,  and  the  friendly  river  runs 
close  by  their  cabin,  and  as  soon  as  a  speck  of 
cloud  rises  on  the  domestic  horizon,  he  rushes 
headlong  for  the  beach  and  puts  to  sea,  no  matter 
for  the  weather,  until  the  storm  ashore  has  sub- 
sided. He  informed  me  once,  as  a  great  secret, 
that  he  never  stood  in  so  much  awe  of  but  one  other 
being,  which  was  the  ^Admiral,'  as  he  calls  Captain 
Cook,  and  surely  if  rank  and  merit  went  always 
hand  in  hand,  no  man  in  his  majesty's  navy  better 
deserves  the  title.  It  mattered  not  how  hard  the 
wind  blew,  if  the  captain  was  in  a  fret,  the  cross- 
trees,  said  Mike,  was  a  more  comtortable  berth 
than  the  quarter-deck.  The  piping  of  old  Boreas 
in  his  most  frantic  mood  was  delightful  music  in 
comparison  with  the  terrible  clangor  of  the  speaking 
trumpet  in  the  hands  of  this  born  ruler  of  the 
roughest  of  his  race.  But  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  do  justice  to  Mike's  hero.  Have  you  read  the 
account  of  his  marvellous  voyage?" 

Harry.— '' On\y  such  snatches  of  it  as  have  ap- 
peared in  the  public  prints." 

DicL—^Theii  I  have  a  rare  entertainment  in 
store  for  you.  What  say  you  to  a  sail  in  Mike's 
fishing  smack,  and  a  thrilling  chapter  or  so  from 
his  inexhaustible  log-book?" 

Harry,— ''I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  next  to 
a  cruise  with  the  great  'Admiral'  himself.  I  agi'ee 
with  you  in  your  estimate  of  Cook's  abilities.  He 
has  not  only  proved  himself  to  be  the  most  daring 

13* 


150  WOODBOUEXE. 

and  skillful  navigator  of  the  day,  but  lie  has  also 
evinced  the  highest  qualities  of  a  great  naval  com- 
mander. I  Avish  ^ve  had  a  dozen  like  him  in  com- 
mand of  as  many  good,  stont  ships  of  war,  we 
would  soon  teach  the  insolent,  self-styled  mistress 
of  the  seas  that  she  has  no  charter  to  ravage  and 
despoil  at  will,  merely  to  make  good  the  prophetic 
anthem  of  her  guardian  angels,  *  Britons  shall 
never  be  made  slaves!'  For  was  it  not  so  written 
in  the  book  of  destiny,  says  or  sings  the  mighty 
bard — 

"'When   Britain  first   at   heaven's   connnanl, 
Arose  from  out  the   azure  main?' 

And  this  gasconading  twaddle  was  actually  rewarded 
with  the  guerdon  of  a  sycophant's  ambition, .a  sin- 
ecure office  under  government!  Slaves,  did  he  say? 
AVhat  has  he  done  with  the  angelic  creatures,  who 
were  auctioned  off  at  Eome  to   the  highest  bidder?" 

"Those  were  unfortunate  captives,  Harry,"  said 
Dick,  vainly  trying  to  rescue  the  "free-born  Bri- 
tons" from  a  merciless  belaboring.  "Part  of  the 
sjwiia  opima   of  the  Eoman   conqtieror." 

"Ko  such  thing,"  continued  Carleton,  giving  the 
reins  to  his  hobby-horse.  "Either  history  is  a 
colossal  lie,  or  these  same  thrasonical  braggarts  were 
little  better  than  a  nation  of  slaves  from  the  dav 
that  Ca?sar  planted  his  standard  on  their  sacred 
soil  to  that  on  which  the  Xorman  despot's  iron  heel 
stampdl  out  the  last  lingering  spark  of  liberty,  and 
they  remained  for  centuries  the  pusillanimous  serfs 
and  yiliains  of  feudal  tyranny.  Besides,  they  have 
meekly  endured  every  phase  of  anarchy  and  revo- 
lution, passed  through    the  flames  of   religious  per- 


WOODBOURXE.  151 

secution,  and  suffered  all  the  calamities  of  huvless 
usurpation  and  grinding  oppression.  And  even  now 
they  are  the  obedient,  submissive  vassals  of  the 
vile  tyrant,  who  seeks  to  bind  us  with  galling 
chains." 

''Breathe  awhile,  Hurry,"'  said  Dick,  "and  at 
'em  again.  Your  invective  is  superb.  AVhat  does 
Addison   say?     Oh,   I   have   it: 

" '  'Tis  liberty  tliat  crowns  Brittania's   isle. 

And  makes  her  barren   rocks  and  her  bleak    nuun- 
tains  smile.' 

Was  I  ranting  in  good  earnest,  Dick?"'  inquired 
his  companion,  with  an  innocent  look.  *•  Oh,  how 
I  do  detest  the  trumpery  fustian  stuff  called  elo- 
quence— all  sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing.  It 
was  Cortez,  I  believe,  who  said  that  some  things 
should  be  done  before  they  were  thought  upon — a 
proper  maxim  for  a  foolhardy,  hair-brained  adven- 
turer. Yet  certain  it  is,  that  over-much  talking 
about  a  matter  of  life  and  death  importance  is  apt 
to  beget  irresolution  and  fatal  delay  in  its  execution. 
Many  a  flighty  purpose  has  gone  careering  to  the 
limbo  of  vanity  on  the  furious  gale  of  windy 
declamation.  Has  not  Patrick  Henry  said  all  that 
can  be  said  on  the  subject?  Then  why  do  not 
our  conscript  Fathers  declare  at  once  for  indepen- 
dence,  and  cease  to  talk  about  it?" 

"It  will  require  a  legion  of  light-horse  to  back 
tlie   declaration,   brave  captain,"   said   Dick. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  impetuous  Carleton;  "and 
they  can  be  had  at  a  minute's  warning.  Every 
man  in  Virginia  will  leap  to  arms  at  the  first 
note   of    th.it  inspiring   tocsin." 


152  WOODBOURKE. 

There  was  nothing  in  this  eager  outburst  incon- 
sistent with  his  previous  utterances.  He  saw  that 
the  conflict  was  inevitable;  he  anticipated  the  final 
result,  and  his  soul  was  filled  with  the  sublime 
thought  of  a  young  nation  liberated  from  colonial 
bondage,  and  starting  upon  its  career  of  imperish- 
able glory. 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation,  our  cavaliers 
were  interrupted  by  a  messenger,  who  came  to  say 
that  Mr.  Graeme  awaited  their  presence  at  the 
house,  and  glad  to  escape  from  their  dangerous 
society,  we  will  invite  the  reader  to  continue  his 
round  of  ninketting  in  more  agreeable  company. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


I  r^^l  HE  kJy  and  gentleman  whose  appearance 
W3\  K.d  gave  rise  to  the  foregoing  animadversions 
liJ  W!\    of  Mr.   Pilchard  Allowav,  in  a  little  while 


have  returned  from  their  morning  jaunt 
on  horseback.  But  it  is  all  too  charming— the  luxu- 
rious effulgence  of  the  glorious  autumnal  sky— to 
be  imprisoned  within  doors,  and  they  have  barely 
entered  the  house  before  they  come  forth  again, 
this  time  equipped  for  a  v/alk.  After  a  turn  or 
two  on  the  spacious  terrace,  and  around  the  grand 
circle,  and  down  the  broad  avenue,  they  are  finally 
discovered  idly  wandering  through  the  groves  and 
glades  of  the  deerless  park  which  skirts  the  lawn 
on  the  side  nearest  to  the  river.  A  gigantic  oak 
has  been  blown  down  in  a  furious  gale  last  sum- 
mer. It  is  clinging  desperately  to  life  by  one  frail 
root,  and  its  proud  head,  now  a  shapeless  mass  of 
ruin,  hangs  helplessly  over  a  dismal  hollow.  To 
the  moralist  it  presented  the  familiar  symbol  of 
dethroned  majesty — of  the  sure  fate  that  overtakes 
alike  the  loftiest  and  lowliest  of  mortal  men.  Other- 
wise rugged  and  forlorn,  to  say  nothing  of  its 
proximity  to   the    deep    and    dark    ravine,    the    spot 

(153) 


151  WOODBOURNE. 

had  none  of  the  attractive  features  of  the  poetical 
trysting-place  of  "Love's  young  dream."  Yet  here 
the  ramblers  pause;  the  gentleman  assists  the  lady 
to  a  seat  on  the  gnarled  trunk  of  the  prostrate 
giant,  and  himself  leans  gracefully  against  a  shat- 
tered limb. 

In  one  respect,  Mr.  liichard  Alloway's  portrait 
of  his  fair  cousin  has  not  exceeded  the  bounds  of 
truthful  delineation.  It  is  the  most  bewitchingly 
beautiful  face  in  the  world  that  is  looking  up  at 
its  companion  out  of  a  wondrous  glory  of  cluster- 
ing brown  curls,  and  it  is  moreover  apparent  to  a 
connoisseur  in  such  matters  that  the  deep,  earnest, 
adoring  expression  of  those  eloquent  eyes  could  not 
possibly  be  counterfeited  by  the  most  consummately 
wicked  of  coquettes.  There  is  no  denying  the  soft 
impeachment — 

Love  in  her  sunny  eyes  cloth  basking  play, 
Love  wallvs  the  j^leasant  mazes   of    her  hair, 

Love  does  on  both  her  lips   forever  stray, 
And  sows  and  reaps  a  thousand  kisses  there. 

And  in  her  case,  these  outward  and  visible  tokens 
of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace  plainly  denoted 
that  love  had  gone  within,  and  nestled  like  a  dove 
in  the  warmest  corner   of   her   heart. 

But,  out  upon  the  "rude  Carinthian  boor"  of  a 
limner,  who  has  done  the  handsome  and  houseless 
stranger  such  unmannerly  despite.  True,  his 
abundant  and  flowing  tresses,  worn  in  (fontemjot  of 
the  prevailing  mode,  are  the  hue  of  the  raven's 
wing,  but  they  shade  a  brow  and  features  that 
are   strikingly   noble,   intelligent   and    attractive,   and 


WOODBOUEXE.  155 

SO  far  from  Tvearing  a  ferocious  or  even  austere 
aspect,  the  full,  black  orbs  have  quenched  their 
fiery  darts  in  a  flood  of  tenderest  lustre,  and  repay 
the  lady  her  loving  gaze  ^vith  usury.  He  is  speak- 
ing, and  although  his  language  is  English,  pure 
and  fluent,  he  makes  no  attempt  to  disguise  the 
marked   accent    "«-hich   betrays    his    foreign    nativity. 

"There  is  no  longer  room  for  a  reasonable  doubt 
on  the  subject,"  said  he,  pursuing  a  theme  in 
which  he  was  intensely  interested.  "Your  late 
cousin,  Mr.  Eichard  Austin,  answers  perfectly  to 
the  description  of  our  incognito.  Xo  wonder  the 
Abbe's  usual  penetration  failed  him  here — he  had 
no  earthly  ground  to  suspect  that  the  object  of 
his  search  was  all  that  time  hiding  from  his  most 
intimate  friends.  It  was  his  nephew,  you  tell  me, 
with  whom  I  had  the  pleasant  encounter  of  the 
fox  hunt?  I  should  not  have  divined  the  relation- 
ship from  any  external  resemblance  to  the  original 
of  the  picture,  as  drawn  by  the  master  of  the 
Grande  Chartreuse — the  one  a  frail,  delicate,  pale- 
eyed,  silver-toned  and  morbidly  sensitive  student; 
the  other,  a  stout,  hirsute,  bold  and  devil-may-care 
sportsman,  with  the  brawn  of  a  Milo,  and  the  lungs 
of  a  Stentor.'' 

The  lady  smiled. 

'*It  would,  indeed,  bo  diiflcult/'  she  replied,  "to 
find  two  near  kinsmen  more  utterly  dissimilar  in 
personal  appearance.  But  you  wrong  my  cousin 
Eichard  if  you  imagine  he  is  only  the  stature, 
bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man.  He  is  a 
noble-hearted,  brave  and  generous  fellow,  if  he  has 
of  late  taken  up  a  most  unaccountable  dislike  of 
me.*' 


156  WOODBOUEXE. 

^'Ancl  thereby  established  his  claim  to  my  regard," 
said  Conrad,  hT-ughingly.  "I  readily  forgive  him 
his  making  merry  over  my  ridiculous  misadventure; 
it  served  me  right  for  coming  in  at  the  fag  end 
of  the  chase  to  try  to  rob  him  of  his  T^^ell-earned 
laurels.     But  his  behavior  in  the  other  case — " 

"Xay,"  cried  Miss  Littleton,  in  the  same  ban- 
tering tone,  "I  reject  your  championship.  Leave 
me  to  fight  my  own  battles  T^'ith  this  great  giant, 
and  you  will,  in  no  time,  behold  a  bloodless  tri- 
umph, no  love  lost,  and  no  bones  broken.  After 
all,  it  was  a  trifling  matter  to  quarrel  about,  and 
if  he  is  as  heartily  ashamed  of  it  as  I  am,  there 
■\^ill  be  no  trouble  in  bringing  about  a  speedy  res- 
toration of  our  former  amicable  relations.  On  due 
reflection,  I  am  convinced  that  I  was  the  party 
most  at  fault.  There  can  be  no  excuse  for  the 
rude  and  scornful  manner  in  which  I  repudiated 
his  well-meant  intercession  in  a  dear  friend's  behalf. 
A  woman  is  apt  to  exaggerate  offences  when  she 
is  conscious  of  imprudence  in  giving  occasion  for 
invidious  criticism.  I  remember  being  exceedingly 
indignant  with  him  at  the  time,  and  I  did  not 
scruple  to  berate  him  soundly  for  having  been  the 
cause  of  a  painful  misunderstanding  with  the 
Graemes,   to   vrhom   I   was   really  attached." 

''Did  he  accuse  you  flatly  of  having  jiltel  Mr. 
George    Graeme?"   asked   Conrad. 

''Yes,"  replied  Mary,  "or  at  least  his  language 
implied  as  much,  and  besides,  he  called  me  a  lit- 
tle fury,  and,  I  verily  believe,  he  wished  I  had 
been  a  man,  that  he  might  take  me  to  personal 
account.     To   be   sure,   he   apologized    for    his    angry 


WOODBOUKXE.  157 

conduct,  but  I  was  so  mucli  incensed  at  the  thought 
of  a  rupture  with  my  friends  at  Bonhill,  the  result 
of  his  awkward  intermeddling,  that  I  repulsed  his 
overtures,  and  thus  the  matter  stands  open  between 
us  at  present.  Unfortunately  for  me,  the  reputed 
victim  of  my  artful  wiles  was  gone  away  to  Scot- 
land, and  so  Dame  Gossip  had  everything  her  own 
way.  But  worst  affliction,  I  had  to  endure  my 
good  aunt's  interminable  lectures ;  for,  strange  to 
say,  she  obstinately  refused  to  listen  to  one  word 
of  explanation  from  me,  and  charged  my  delin- 
quencies, as  she  was  pleased  to  call  them,  to  the 
account  of  setting  at  naught  her  wholesome  admo- 
nitions. In  such  a  desperate  strait,  there  was  no 
recourse  left  me  but  to  fiy  for  shelter  to  my  sister 
in   Maryland." 

•*ln  which  hegira  from  persecution,  you  have 
furnished  another  striking  illustration  of  the  pro- 
verb which  has  been  so  often  exemplified  in  my 
humble  career,  ^L'Homiiie  2^ropose  ct  Dicu  dispose,^  ^^ 
exclaimed   the   passionate   lover. 

*•  Take  care  how  you  bless  your  stars  on  the 
event,"  replied  the  wayward  damsel,  with  a  saucy 
glance,  ^'for,  if  report  be  true,  you  have  this  time 
experienced  the  truth  of  a  different  adage  alto- 
gether, and  only  caught  a  Tartar  for  your  pains. 
There,  let  go  my  hand  and  behave  like  a  rational 
being.  And,  since  you  are  in  the  sentimental  vein, 
tell  me  a  pretty  love  story  out  of  your  book  of 
romantic  chronicles,  and,  in  return,  I  will  impro- 
vise  you   an   Indian   legend." 

"Another  time,  under  favor,  my  gracious  queen," 
said  Conrad.     "You  forget  I   have    an    appointment 

14 


158  WOODBOURXE. 

with   the  Abbe,   which   I   must    on    no    account    fail 
to   keep." 

"  It  had  indeed  escaped  me,"  replied  Mary,  look- 
ing gi-ave.  '*Are  you  compelled  to  go  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

Conrad. — '-I  am;  the  business  between  us  admits 
of  no   delay." 

Mary, — ''How  very  provoking.  I  had  set  my 
heart  on  your  going  to  Bonhill  to-night,  and  being 
introduced  to  the  company  by  your  proper  name 
and  title." 

Conrad. — '-'I  fear  you  will  be  deprived  of  that 
gratification.  "\\^hat  is  the  distance  to  Yeocomico, 
the   place   at  which   I   am   to   meet  the  Abbe  ? " 

Mary. — ''Scarcely  an  hour's  ride.  What  is  that 
noise  ?  " 

There  was  a  strange  rustling  sound  among  the 
leaves  of  the  fallen  oak,  although  there  was  not  a 
breath   of  T>-ind   astir. 

"Only  a  bird,"  said  Conrad,  replying  to  her 
look  of  alarm. 

The  explanation  was  plausible,  but  it  did  not 
allay  Miss  Littleton's  suspicions.  As  the  conversa- 
tion proceeded,  she  was  repeatedly  observed  to  cast 
uneasy  glances  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound 
proceeded. 

"Suppose  now,"  she  went  on  to  say,  "that  I 
were  to  insist  upon  your  deferring  this  visit  until 
to  morrow  morning  ?  " 

"Fardo7inez-moi,  ma  delle  arnie/'  replied  her  com- 
panion ;  "  but  it  is  not  a  supposable  matter.  You 
are  avrare  that  the  ship  is  ready  to  put  to  sea 
with   the   first   favorable   c'alc   after   midnidit,   and    I 


WOODBOURXE.  159 

am  no  more  a  Prospero  than  you  are  a  Lapland 
witch  or  other  kmcl  of  contraband  dealer  in  con- 
trary winds.  Besides,  the  excellent  father  makes 
free  nse  of  the  imperative  mood  in  his  missive, 
and  we  have  a  great  many  things  to  talk  over. 
Of  course  I  shall  be  required  to  answer  for  my 
dealings  vritli  a  certain  incorrigible  little  heretic, 
and  what  have  I  to  urge  in  my  defence?  Abso- 
lutely nothing.  Only  a  miracle  of  grace  can  save 
me  from  the  awful  expiation  of  an  aiito-da-f'c.  The 
Abbe  is  a  master  of  the  art  of  persuasion,  but 
even  his  eloquence  would  be  lost  on  such  an  ob- 
stinate rebel.  Convert  her!  lie  may  as  well  go 
with  good  St.  Anthony  and  preach  salvation  to 
the  fishes." 

At  this  audacious  speech  the  young  lady  bridled 
up  with  the  best  imitation  of  offended  dignity  she 
could  muster  on  so  short  a  notice.  There  was  one 
subject  on  which  these  lovers  had  very  prudently 
resolved  mutually  to  exercise  the  largest  amount  of 
the  liberty  of  liberties — videlicet — the  liberty  of  dis- 
agreeing. In  the  archest  manner  imaginable,  and 
with  the  aptest  exhibition  of  ironical  humor,  she 
held  up  a  taper  finger,  on  which  glittered  a  ring 
begemmed  with  costly  jewels. 

"Since  it  is  to  the  confessional  you  are  going, 
my  poor  penitent,"  said  she  with  mock  compas- 
sion, "be  sure  you  carry  the  sin-offering  with 
you;"  then  suddenly  pouting  and  affecting  the  air 
and  tone  of  injured  beauty,  which  has  a  right  to 
be  absurdly  jealous  and  outrageously  exacting,  she 
added  lachrymosely,  "  I  believe  you  love  Father 
Soule  better  than  you  do  anybody  else  in  the 
world." 


160  WOODBOrKXE. 

"Xot  exactly,"  said  Conrad,  earnestly.  ''But  it 
is  quite  probable  I  should  have  been  unworthy  of 
the  love  of  one  body  in  the  world  had  it  not  been 
my  good  fortune  to  have  for  a  mentor,  at  once 
the  best,  the  gentlest  and  the  wisest  of  men.  You 
should  have  heard  Avhat  Mr.  Carroll  said  of  him 
if  you  deem  my  encomium  extravagant.  *  Father 
Soule,'  he  said  to  me  one  da}',  in  his  deliberate 
manner,  ^approaches,  in  my  estimation,  as  near  to 
being  a  pure  and  perfect  intelligence  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  conceive  of  in  a  Unite  and  fallible  mortal.' 
His  learning  is  only  excelled  by  his  piety,  and 
both  are  unfathomable.  He  is  a  philosopher  with- 
out scepticism,  a  polemic  without  acerbity,  a  priest 
without  bigotry.  The  most  subtle  and  profound  of 
thinkers,  the  most  captivating  of  reasoners,  the 
most  erudite  of  scholars,  the  humblest  of  believers, 
he  is  what  Socrates  might  have  been  had  he  too 
been  a   Christian." 

"A  wonderful  character,  truly,  for  a  Jesuit  priest," 
exclaimed  the  persistent  heretic,  "for  such  I  un- 
derstand is  your  incomparable  guide,  philosopher 
and  friend." 

Conrad  was  now  constrained  to  take  up  the  cud- 
gels for  his  tutor  in  downright  earnest.  "Yes," 
said  he,  "'  I  do  not  blush  to  proclaim  it  in  spite 
of  the  late  extraordinary  decree  of  Eome.  He  does 
belong  to  that  illustrious  society  vrhich  has  been 
so  grievously  scandalized  by  the  conduct  of  un- 
worthy members,  and  his  life  has  been  a  shining 
example  of  its  sublime  motto — All  things  for  the 
greater  glory  of  God." 

"And   pray   tell   me,"   retorted   the    fair    disputant, 


^VOODBOUEXE.  IGl 

"whence  came  the  prerogative  of  your  magnificent 
order  to  that  pious  posy?  To  my  thinking,  it  is 
of  the  essence  of  religion  the  worhl  over  to  ascribe 
all  honor,  praise  and  glory  to  Him  from  whom 
cometh  every  good  and  perfect  gift.  It  is  certainly 
so  tauglit  in  my  Bible  and  Prayer  Book.  All 
things  for  the  greaier  glory  of  God?  Why  it  is 
the  soul  of  Christian  worship,  the  burden  of  every 
sacred  missal,  the  universal  doxology  of  devotional 
piety,  and  you  would  appropriate  it  to  adorn  the 
phylactery  of  an  effete  monkish  institution.  That 
will  do,  not  another  syllable,  as  you  are  a  gallant 
gentleman;  I  claim  the  privilege  of  my  sex,  the 
last  word.  You  began  the  dispute  without  warning. 
I  will  put  an  end  to  it  with  equal  abruptness. 
You  have  neglected  to  say  whether  or  not  my 
poor  cousin's  death  necessitates  an  alteration  in 
your  plans.'' 

"That  will  be  as  the  good  father  will  decide," 
replied   Conrad,   now   all   meek   submission. 

"And  has  not  the  good  father's  dutiful  son  any 
opinion   of  his   own   on   so   vital  a   subject?'' 

^'He-Men!  It  is  really  my  poor  opinion  to  which 
your  ladyship  attaches  so  great  value."  Then  grow- 
ing suddenly  serious,  he  proceeded.  "The  plan  of 
procedure  shall  not  be  changed  in  a  single  par- 
ticular with  my  consent.  The  proofs,  to  be  sure, 
are  not  sufficient  in  law;  there  is  one  link  missing 
in  the  chain  of  evidence  which  only  Mr.  Austin 
could  have  supplied.  But  I  am  not  a  suppliant  of 
British  justice.  I  expect  no  redress  at  the  hands 
of  my  father's  malignant  enemies ;  my  lot  in  that 
regard    is    now    irrevocably    fixed;    henceforth,    for 


1G2  WOODBOUKXE. 

weal  or  woe,  I  mn  an  American.  My  private  score 
with  a  s\vorn  and  implacable  foe  shall  not  turn  ]rie 
from  the  line  of  duty;  he  may  procrastinate  the 
day  of  settlement,  but  as  a  jnst  God  reigneth,  he 
will  live  to  see  the  conseqnences  of  his  nnnatnral 
guilt.  To-morrow  yo-ur  father  sliall  know  my  whole 
history,  from  which  time  I  shall  assume  my  riglit- 
ful   name,   rank   and   station." 

"Why  not  allow  me  the  privilege  of  telling  it 
all  to  my  friends  this  very  night  ? "  eagerly  in- 
quired Mary   Littleton. 

"So  be  it,"  replied  Conrad,  after  a  moment's  re- 
flection. "  Provided,  of  course,  that  I  get  back  in 
time  to  bear  you  company.  Still  it  is  proper  for 
me  to  inform  Colonel  Littleton  who  I  am,  and  to 
learn'  vvdiat  he  has  to  say  about  the  after  intro- 
duction. You  must  remember,  too,  there  is  another 
important  matter  about  which  he  is  to  be  con- 
sulted." 

The  lady  looked  up  inquiringly,  but  there  was  no 
need  of  explanation ;  the  rosy  flush  which  suffused 
her  cheek  showed  how  truly  she  interpreted  his 
meaning   glance. 

"Does  Father  Soule  approve  your  sending  this 
letter  to  the  person  they  call  Sir  "William  Mark- 
ham?"  she  asked,  covering  her  momentary  con- 
fusion by  recurrence  to  the  previous  engrossing 
topic. 

"More  than  that,"  replied  Conrad;  "the  letter 
was  originally  written  at  his  dictation  two  months 
ago.  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  phrase  it  after 
what  had  occurred  between  us."  His  thin  lips 
grew     tremulous     with     suppressed    passion,    and    a 


VrOODBOUEXE.  1G3 

sadden  gleam  like  liglitning  from  a  passing  sum- 
mer cloud  shot  from  the  speaker's  brilliant  eyes. 
'•'  The  bloody  reckoning  was  not  of  my  seeking ; 
my  mission  to  England  Tvas  for  peace  and  recon- 
ciliation, to  heal  the  gaping  Tvounds  which  civil 
broils  had  made  in  our  unhappy  house,  and  I  was 
ready  to  make  every  sacrifice  but  cue  to  secure 
that  consummation.  Even  now,  my  terms  are  fair, 
honorable  and  just.  If  Su*  William  Markham  again 
rejects  them,  on  his  head  shall  rest  the  guilt  of 
keeping  open  wouiuls  that  mav  rankle  to  the 
death." 

The  vehemence  of  his  manner,  and  his  loftv 
mien,  elate  and  instinct  with  conscious  power  to 
will  and  to  do,  brought  a  bright  glow  of  admira- 
tion to  the  lovely  features  of  his  companion;  but 
before  she  could  frame  a  reply,  the  limbs  of  the 
great  oak  were  violently  shaken,  which  startling 
phenomenon  was  immediately  followed  bv  a  dull 
thud  and  the  crackling  sound  of  breaking  twigs, 
as  though  some  heavy  body  had  fallen  to  the 
ground  and  rolled  down  the  side  of  the  ravine. 
Conrad  ran  to  the  edge  and  peered  over.  Then, 
with  a  loud  shout,  he  bounded  down  tlie  bank  in 
pursuit,  as  fast  as  the  dense  thicket  of  undergrowth 
permitted.  Presently  he  came  panting  back,  with 
a   small   sporting   rifle   in  his   hand. 

'*'  The  scamp  was  too  fleet  for  me,''  he  said ;  "  but 
he   has   lost  his   gun.'' 

'•It  is  Archie's,"  replied  Mary,  ''and  here  he  is. 
"What  is  the  matter  child?  The  gentleman  will 
not  harm   you." 

The  question   did  not  imply  alarm;   for   barring  a 


164  TTOODBOUEXE. 

scratch  on  the  cheek,  the  lad  was  not  hurt,  and 
his  buckskin  hunting  suit  was  briar  and  bramble 
proof;  but  his  face  showed  signs  of  deep  vexation 
and   shame. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  him,''  he  said,  his  color 
deepening  as  he  shot  a  fiery  glance  at  Conrad, 
who  was  regarding  him  with  a  half  amused,  half- 
admiring  look.  ''Indeed,  Miss  Mary,  it  was  an 
accident  my  being  here.  I  saw  you  coming,  and 
hid   in   the   tvree   for   fan."' 

"Queer  notion  of  fun,  you  little  eavesdropper," 
said   Conrad. 

Again  the  boy's  face  grew  crimson  with  indigna- 
tion, and  his  eyes  flashed  defiance  at  his  accuser. 
"It  is  false,"  he  cried.  "Miss  Mary,  you — ," 
"'Do  not  believe  you  capable  of  such  an  act, 
Archie,"  replied  the  lady,  hastening  to  his  relief; 
"'nor  shall  this  gentleman  do  you  such  injustice 
in  his  thoughts,  if  I  can  help  it.  Mr.  Conrad, 
this  is  the  little  friend  of  whom  you  have  heard 
me   speak." 

"And  whose  acquaintance  I  have  so  much  de- 
sired to  make,"  said  Conrad,  with  winning  cour- 
tesy ;  "'  I  recall  the  offensive  expression ;  there,  my 
little  fellow,  take  your  pretty  gun,  and  with  it  my 
hand,  and  thus,  there  is  an  end  of  it.  Xow,  hie 
away  after  that  Mjunny''  that's  chattering  dov\-n 
there  in  the  ravine,  and  leave  Miss  Littleton  and 
me  to  finish   our   conversation." 

"'Stay,  Archie,"  exclaimed  Mary,  as  the  boy 
turned  to  go;   "who   is   that   man?" 

Conrad  and  the  boy  looked  quickly  in  the  direc- 
tion she  pointed,  and  saw  a  man  dressed  in  the  garb 


■WOODBOURXE.  165 

of  a  sailor,  some  fifty  paces  distant,  walking  hnr- 
riedly  through  the  Park  towards  the  river.  Another 
moment  he   was   out   of  siglit. 

*'It  isn't  Mike,'-'  said  Archie;  '•' I'll  run  after  him 
and  see — ," 

'•Xo,  no,"  said  Mary,  hastily;  '-it  does  not  mat- 
ter. Go  on  to  the  house  and  tell  aunt  Mr  Conrad 
is  going  away  before  dinner,  and  don't  go  home 
until  I  see  you  again;  I  have  something  to  send 
your  mother.  That's  a  good  boy;  there's  a  kiss 
for  you.*' 

Archie  bltished  in  acknowledgment  of  the  favor, 
and,  bowing  gracefully  to  Conrad,  scampered  off  as 
she  reqtiested. 

"  Your  page  is  very  obedient,  but  why  so  thought- 
ful, lady  mine?"  sidd  Conrad,  observing  that  the 
capricious  damsel  was  following  the  boy  Avith  a 
serious   gaze.     Mary   started,   blushing   slightly. 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "only  a  foolish  fimcy;" 
but  seeing  that  he  still  regarded  her  with  a  ques- 
tioning look,  she  proceeded:  "You  remember  as  we 
were  riding  home  this  morning  through  the  wood, 
we  heard  the  report  of  a  gun.  It  caused  me  to 
turn  my  head,  and,  fast  as  we  were  going,  I  caught 
sight  of  that  same  man  skulking  among  the  bushes 
near  the  road.  He  was  looking  straight  at  me,  and 
a  more  forbidding  face,  though  I  saw  it  for  an 
instant  only,  I  never  looked  on.  "When  I  discov- 
ered him  just  now  he  was  peering  at  Archie  from 
behind  that  tree  in  a  stealthy  manner.  At  once  a 
suspicion  took  hold  of  me  that  he  was  dogging 
the  boy's  steps  for  some  evil  purpose.  Quite  ab- 
surd, wasn't  it?" 


166  WOODBOURXE. 

"By  no  means,"  said  Conrad;  "the  suspicion 
was  natural  enough.  What  a  spitfire  the  lad  is; 
it  is  well  for  me  he  was  disarmed.  I  like  his 
spirit." 

Mar  I/. — "And  if  he  were  eavesdropping,  it  is  pre- 
cious  little   he   got   for   his   trouble." 

Conrad. — "True;  what  a  model  pair  of  turtle 
doves   we   are   to  be   sure." 

Lovers  have  an  incomprehensible  hinguage  for 
which  there  is  neither  lexicon  nor  grammar.  Why 
the  other  "dove"  should  spring  from  her  perch 
and  dart  like  an  arrow  so  quickly  across  the  glade 
at  that  innocent  allusion,  was  to  the  uninitiated 
observer  an  unaccountably  strange  proceeding.  Away 
she  sped  through  the  park,  nor  paused  in  her 
flight  until  she  reached  the  open  lawn  and  cauglit 
sight  of  Aunt  Theodora's  vigilant  face  looking  out 
at  her  chamber  window.  Then  she  turned  upon 
her  baffled  pursuer  with  a  silvery  peal  of  defiance, 
to  which  the  discomfited  swain  replied  with  the 
baldest   pretence   of  supreme  nonchalance. 

Passing  the  reviewing  officer  with  the  most  pre- 
cise decorum,  the   lovers   entered   the   house. 

"Xow,"  said  Mary,  "I  must  go  and  have  a  lunch 
got  ready  for  you  while  you  are  making  prepara- 
tions  for   your   ride." 

Conrad's  rapturous  gaze  followed  her  graceful 
form  as  she  tripped  away  on  her  errand.  "Be- 
hold I"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  transport  of  feeling,  "the 
first  gift  of  my  adopted  land — a  treasure  I  would 
not  barter  for  all  the  wealth  and  dignities  that 
kings  can  bestow.  The  Abbe  must  surely  approve 
my  choice,  unless  he  intends  I    shall    never  marry. 


WOODBOURXE.  167 

How  unlucky  he  should  be  called  away  so  sud- 
denly. At  least  ^YQ  must  contrive  to  detain  tliis 
vessel,  if  only  for  a  day.  lie  will  then  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  her  before  he  goes  on  this 
perilous  voyage."  So  saying,  he  hastened  to  get 
ready  for  his  journey. 


CHAPTER   XIY 


|6 
1 

T  13  the  niglit  of  the  party.  Bonhill  is 
ao-low  with  a  blaze  of  dorv,  and  flames 
afar  like  a  cheering  beacon  from  its  hill 
of  pride.  Cavalcade  after  cavalcade  of 
country  beaux  and  belles  are  pouring  in,  and  soon 
the  jocund  sounds  of  revelry  are  floating  gaily  on 
the  palpitating  air.  Old  Uncle  Plnl,  the  black 
fiddler,  like  another  Timotheus,  or  ebony  image  of 
the  musical  god  himself,  raised  on  high,  rules  the 
monarch  of  a  season  over  as  goodly  a  company  of 
fair  women  and  brave  men  as  ever  moved  submis- 
sive to  the  spell  of  enchantirig  minstrelsy.  Cliacun 
a  son  gout.  Let  such  as  like,  ^*  dance  after  a  Mon- 
sieur's flagoolet,'"'  or,  if  they  prefer,  ^-'have  a  set 
of  English  viols  to  their  concert;"  but  for  the 
kind  of  melody  which  puts  life  and  mettle  into 
heel  and  toe,  which  ^-'aAvakes  the  pert  and  nimble 
spirit  of  mirth  and  turns  melancholy  forth  to 
funerals,"  there  is  no  instrument  of  music  which 
bears  comparison  with  a  tuneful  fiddle  under  the 
skillful  manipulation  of  some  sable  Orpheus  from 
Old   Yirfrinia's    shore.     0,    the    wonderful    works    of 


(108) 


WOODBOURXE.  169 

nature!  TVlio  ^vould  imagine  that  the  soul  of  har- 
mony resided  in  the  entrails  of  a  caterwauling 
grimalkin?  How  the  secret  was  first  made  known 
is  a  question  about  which  there  is  much  diversity 
of  opinion  among  learned  Thebans,  so  we  will  cut 
the  matter  short  by  agreeing  with  the  '-auld  gabbit 
poets/'   that 

Jove's  nimble  son  and  kckie   snel 
Mide  the  first   fiddle   of  a  shell, 

On  which  Apollo, 
With  mickle  pleasure,  played  himsel 

Baith  jig  and  solo. 

It  is  the  first  time  that  Bonhill  has  witnessed 
such  a  scene  of  merriment  and  glee;  but  not  the 
last  by  a  countless  number.  Ofttimes  have  we  be- 
held the  like  display  in  those  cheery  old  halls — little 
or  nothing  changed,  save  in  the  names  and  costumes 
of  the  actors;  danced  the  same  minuets  and  coun- 
try dances,  reels  and  rigadoons,  and  cut  nameless 
fantastic  capers  to  the  lively  strains  of  the  identi- 
cal cremona  bequeathed  from  sooty  sire  to  son; 
listened  to  the  like  merry  din  of  inarticulate  voices 
and  clatter  of  many  twinkling  feet ;  the  same  glad- 
some chimes  of  silvery  laughter,  rustling  of  silken 
folds,  and,  crowning  all,  the  deft  prompter's  gutteral 
tones  calling  out  the  figures  of  the  dance — every 
charming  feature  as  fresh  and  joyous  as  on  that 
first  night  when  youth  and  pleasure  here  for- 
gathered '-  to  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  fiying 
feet.-'' 

There  is  no  observance  here  of  formal  ceremony 
and   staid    etiquette ;    all    things    are    conducted    on 

15 


170  WOODBOUKNE. 

that  indescribably  free  and  easy  plan  and  decorous 
regard  of  unstudied  politeness  which  was  the  ruling 
trait  of  the  social  gatherings  of  the  olden  time  in 
Virginia.  The  guests  are,  for  the  most  part,  knovvn 
to  each  other,  and  the  unacquainted  are  soon  re- 
lieved of  embarrassment  by  a  general  introduction. 
The  first  dance  is  ended;  some  of  the  company 
are  promenading  in  couples,  others  enjoying  a  quiet 
tete-a-tete  in  a  cozy  corner,  and,  here  and  there,  a 
little  groujD  appears  to  be  draw^n  together  by  the 
magnetism  of  som.e  acknowledged  belle.  In  the 
centre  of  one  of  these  charmed  circles  shines  re- 
splendent the  beautiful  star  of  Clifton.  Her  com- 
ing unattended  by  the  strange  gentleman  was  the 
occasion  of  much  surprise  and  some  disappointment. 
The  explanation  she  Touchsafed  of  his  absence  only 
served  to  enhance  the  general  interest,  and  she  was 
made  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  inquisitive  tongues. 
Having  borne  the  infliction  for  some  time  with 
commendable  suavity  and  good  humor,  she  at  length 
seeks  refuge  from  her  tormxCntors  by  engaging  in  a 
keen  encounter  of  wit  and  raillery  w^ith  a  sprightly 
young  gentleman,  who  has  only  the  day  before 
arrived  home  from  a  long  sojourn  abroad.  This  is 
Mr.  Charles  Copland,  Jr.,  late  student  of  law  of 
Grey's  Inn,  London,  where  he  has  joerformed  the 
customary  gastronomical  exercises  with  more  than 
ordinary  credit.  Though  she  sustains  her  part  in 
the  conversation  with  considerable  spirit  and  vivacity, 
it  is  evident  on  narrower  scrutiny  that  her  thoughts 
are  far  from  being  wholly  engrossed  thereby.  Occa- 
sionally her  shafts  fly  at  random,  and  once  in  a 
while    she    is    detected    shooting    a    furtive    glance 


WOODBOURXE.  171 

across  the  room  where  Carleton  is  observed  talking 
to  Lucy  Graeme  in  a  sedate  and  earnest  manner, 
which  is  strangely  at  variance  with  tlio  prevailing 
gaiety. 

That  arch  diplomatist  has  lost  no  time  in  laying 
his  wily  toils.  Conscious  of  the  delicacy  of  the 
undertaking,  he  had  set  about  it  with  an  adroit- 
ness which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  genius 
of  a  Temple  or  a  Walsingham.  While  the  dance 
TViiS  going  on  he  found  a  ready  pretext  for  broach- 
ing the  entertaining  subject  of  his  recent  explora- 
tions to  his  partner,  and  so  managed  that  Miss 
Littleton  should  hear  such  si£cnificant  snatches  of 
the  story  as  to  awaken  her  suspicions  and  arouse 
an  eager  desire  to  hear  the  whole  of  it.  Xow,  it 
so  happened  that  the  object  of  his  artful  scheming 
was  at  the  same  time  revolving  in  her  mind  how 
she  could  contrive  to  obtain  certain  information 
from  Mr.  Eichard  Alloway  of  the  supposed  mys- 
terious adventures  of  his  late  uncle  vrhile  in  Europe, 
and  the  apparently  casual  remarks  which  reached 
her  ears  in  the  rounds  of  the  dance  satisfied  her 
that  Carleton  was  in  possession  of  the  matter  she 
sought  to  discover. 

Our  friend  Dick,  we  blush  to  record,  was  so  un- 
gracious as  to  decline  to  meet  his  fair  cousin's 
advances  towards  reconciliation  at  the  half-way  house 
of  mutual  concession;  he  was  inflexibly  oHish,  stiff 
and  punctilious  in  his  demeanor  towards  her.  With 
Lucy  it  was  tout  au  contralre,  not  a  word  was 
spoken  of  the  disagreeable  past;  they  glided  at 
once  into  their  former  intimate  relations  and  were 
the    Rosalind    and    Celia    of    old,    forgetful    that    a 


172  AVOODBOURXE. 

single  cloud  had  ever  darkened  tlie  heaven  of  re- 
ciprocal regard  and  congenial  attachment.  Presently, 
Carleton  joins  the  group  "who  are  gathered  around 
Mary  Littleton,  and  claims  her  hand  for  the  next 
dance. 

"Would  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Carleton,'^  she  ex- 
claimed, after  acknowledging  his  demand,  "'here  is 
a  gentleman  all  the  way  from  London  by  the  last 
packet  who  cannot,  for  his  life,  tell  a  body  a  word 
about  the  latest  vogues?  His  talk  is  of  nothing 
but  the  long-winded  debates  in  Parliament,  the 
grand  sights  he  saAV  at  my  Lord  Mayor's  show,  the 
ghostly  mementoes  of  Westminster  Abbey,  the  monu- 
mental mockeries  of  the  hideous  old  Tower,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  other  equally  dull  and  stupid 
things  which  we  untraveled  ignoramuses,  of  course, 
never  heard  or  read  of  before,  and  here  I  am 
dying  to  learn  if  my  aigrette  is  d-la-jnochy  my  hair 
properly  craped,  my  tucker  such  as  ladies  of  quality 
wear,  whether,  in  a  w^ord,  I  be  poin'-devise  in  all 
all  my  accoutrements." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  to  my  rescue.  Carle- 
ton,"  meekly  responded  the  crest-fallen  limb  of  the 
law.  "You  see  now  what  a  fellow  gets  for  being 
so  deucedly  patriotic.  I  heartily  wish  I  had  stayed 
in  London  after  what  I  have  gone  through  since 
my  return..  What  a  dolt  I  was  to  entertain  so 
absurd  a  delusion.  Just  imagine  my  thinking  all 
this  long  while  that  my  fair  country-women  were 
ever  so  busy,  like  true  Spartan  maids  and  matrons, 
setting  the  example  of  independence — clothing  them- 
selves in  the  products  of  their  own  industrious 
looms   and   spindles,    knitting   stockings    for    General 


>YOODBOUKNE.  173 

Washington's  soldiers,  and  doing  all  manner  of  self- 
sacrificing  things,  and  just  look  at  them,  tricked 
out  in  all  their  finery,  chattering  about  the  latest 
fashions  from  London  and  Paris,  and  denying  me 
the  welcome  they  would  readily  bestow  on  any 
smuggling  pedler  of  new-fimgled  haberdashery. 
Beauty  when  unadorned,  adorned  the  most!  Senti- 
mental stuff!  AVhy,  what  would  a  woman  be  with- 
out the — ," 

Carleton,  eyer  ready,  comes  to  his  assistance  with 
a  handy  tag  of  rhyme: 

"The  powder,  patches,   and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels  and  the  rhigs, 
The  lace,   the  paint  and  warlike  things 
That  make  up  all  their  magazines?" 

"Thank  you,   Harry." 

"  Cowley,  you  mean ;  the  words  are  not  mine," 
replied  the  artful  chevalier,  with  an  apologetic  bow 
to  the  ladies. 

"  ISTever  mind,"  retorted  Copland,  '•  I  am  not  afraid 
to  adopt  the  quotation,  ii  you  are.  Why,  even  Bella 
yonder— bless  her  little  heart,  how  she  cried  when 
her  big  brother  was  sent  away  and  there  was  no 
one  to  play  with  her— even  Bella,  I  say,  now  a 
woman  grown,  wept  bitter  tears  of  anguish  in  secret 
when  she  heard  that  I  had  not  brought  her  a  new 
silk  gown.  ^Yell,  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  to  swallow  my  mortification  with  the  best  grace 
possible.  At  least  there  is  a  grain  of  consolation 
in  the  loss  of  your  kind  favor,  ladies,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  duly  respected  the  laws  of  my 
country.    My  entire  invoice    of   imported  articles    is 

16* 


174:  WOODBOURXE. 

summed  up  in  a  new  book  of  songs  for  Miss  Lucy, 
and  Scotch  high-dried  enough  to  keep  my  respected 
father  sneezing   through   a  year's   siege." 

"Pray,  tell  me,  Mr.  Censor,"  said  Mar}-,  in  the 
same  bantering  tone,  "what  is  the  harm  of  our 
"wearing  fine  clothes,  if  we  happen  to  have  them  ? 
Then,  sir,  you  forget  that  the  prohibition  is  against* 
English  goods.  You  might  have  bought  Bella's 
gown  in  Paris,  where,  I  dare  say,  you  spent  the 
w^orth  of  a  dozen  frolicking  and  sight- seeing  with 
that  rantipole  cousin  of  mine,  Frank  Tunstall,  as 
you  told  us  awhile  ago." 

"Frank  Tunstall!  Did  he  return  with  you?" 
asked   Carleton. 

"Xo,"  said  Copland;  *•' when  I  parted  from  him 
in  Paris  he  was  preparing  to  set  out  on  the  grand 
tour.  Frank  is  become  to  be  very  much  a  citizen 
of  the  world." 

"And  a  greater  coxcomb  than  ever,  I  imagine?" 
said   Carleton. 

"Well,  yes,"  replied  Copland;  "he  has  cultivated 
fashionable  fopperies  at  a  prodigious  rate;  yet,  with 
all  his  dandified  airs  and  priggish  notions,  he  is  by 
no  means  such  a  yapid  creature  as  you  think — at 
least,  he  is  not  deficient  in  spirit.  By  the  way, 
Miss  Mary,  I  did  not  tell  you  how  we  both  came 
to  be  in  Paris.  Well,  as  I  said,  Frank's  ruling  pas- 
sion is  to  be  a  fine  gentleman,  and  being  hand- 
some and  rich,  and  well-bred  and  all  that,  he  soon 
got  the  entree  of  the  leau  monde,  where  he  sported 
like  a  gorgeous  butterfly.  Could  you  hear  him 
descant  on  their  daily  rounds,  you  would  not  won- 
der that  our   dear  cousins  have   no    time  to  attend 


WOODBOURXE.  175 

to  the  liumble  petitions  'with  which  -vve,  as  in  duty 
bound,  have  been  clamorously  besieging  the  throne 
of  kingly  grace;  they  are  literally  overwhelmed  with 
the  gi'ievous  cares  of  their  unhappy  state  which  con- 
denms  theui  to  oscillate  eterually  between  the  ex- 
tremes of  ennui  and  dissipation.  Frank  deemed  this 
exquisite  mode  of  killing  time  to  be  the  acme  of 
refined  beatitude,  and  he  was  vras  never  a  Sabbath 
da}'s  journey  from  his  darling  London,  until  an 
unlucky   contretemps   fell   out — ,'' 

"A  love  scrape  with  a  maid  of  honor  ? "  said 
Mary  Littleton. 

*' Pinked  a  young  sprig  of  nobility  in  a  duel?" 
said  Carleton. 

"Xeither,"  replied  Copland;  "though  cpiite  as  bad 
as  the  one  or  the  other.  Eeturning  home  one  night 
from  the  opera,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  ven- 
ture alone  into  "White's,  that  paradise  of  heaiix 
garcons  and  Jiommes  cle  condition — anglice  fashion- 
able rakes  and  genteel  sharpers — where,  not  con- 
tent with  the  innocent  diversion  of  being  plucked 
for  a  docile  pigeon,  he  very  foolishly  suffered  himself 
to  be  inveigled  into  talking  of  politics.  Of  course, 
in  such  a  select  assembly  of  lopl  blades,  the 
rabble  rout  of  American  rebels  were  denounced,  as 
they  should  be,  and  the  rash,  intruding  Virginian 
was  not  long  in  finding  himself  an  unwilling 
auditor  of  all  manner  of  scurrilous  allusions,  objur- 
gations and  sneers,  poured  out  without  stint  or 
measure  on  his  countrymen.  He  managed  to  keep 
his  choler  down  and  sustain  the  unequal  combat 
of  billingsgate  and  bravado  until  one  of  his  assail- 
ants made  some    disparaging    speech    about    General 


176  WOODBOUEXE. 

Washington,  wlio,  among  other  claims  to  distinction, 
has  the  honor  to  be  nearly  related  to  Frank  on 
his  mother's  side.  A  knock  down,  a  general  scuffle 
and  nj^roar,  and  all  is  dark  to  our  hero  until  he 
awakes  next  morning  with  a  dim  and  confused  per- 
ception of  what  had  happened,  and  a  humiliating 
conviction  that  he  was  certainly  demented  to  ven- 
ture by  himself  in  that  den  full  of  the  British 
lion's  whelps.  He  was  lucky  to  get  off  with  only 
a  bruised  lip  and  one  eye  in  mourning;  but  such 
w^as  his  mortification  that  I  had  no  trouble  in  per- 
suading him  to  pack  his  portmanteau  and  take  the 
first  diligence  for  Dover.  In  a  fortnight's  time  I 
joined  him  in  Paris,  where  I  found  him  revelling 
in  the  elysian  delights  of  the  gay  metropolis  and 
railing  in  bad  French  at  everything  English  in  a 
way  that    made   the  natives   stare." 

"And  when  is  the  splendid  creature  coming  back 
to   the   land  of  savages?"   asked   Mary. 

"In  the  spring,  he  said,"  replied  Copland.  "I 
shall  promise  him,  when  I  write,  a  peifect  ovation 
from  les  ielles-sauvages  !  " 

The  young  lawyer  was  in  rapid  retreat  when  he 
discharged  this  Parthian  arrow.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone  the  little  coterie  dispersed,  and  Carleton  and 
Miss   Littleton   fell   into   line  with  the  promenaders. 

The  diplomatist  begins:  "Miss  Graeme  tells  me 
she  expected  a  rare  addition  to  her  company  this 
evening.  She  seems  much  disappointed  that  he  did 
not  come ;   to  be   frank,   so   am   I." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes;  the  gentleman  to  whom  I  allude  is  Mr. 
Conrad." 


WOODEOUEXE.  177 

"  Oh,  my  father's  guest.  I  have  already  endured 
a  siege  of  questiouiiig  on  account  of  his  failure  to 
put  in  an  appearance  here  to-night.  Pray,  Y>hy  are 
you  so  deeply    concerned  about  it?" 

"From  a  better  niotive,  I  beg  you  -will  believe, 
than  impertinent  curiosity.  I  have  an  important 
reason  for  desiring  to  make  Mr.  Conrad's  acquaint- 
ance. I  am  very  much  exercised  over  an  investi- 
gation of  certain  transactions  of  your  late  cousin, 
Mr.  Eichard  Austin,  T^'hile  traveling  in  Europe 
many  years  ago,  and  I  have  a  notion  that  Mr. 
Conrad  can  be   of  service   to  me   in   the  matter." 

Mary  was  visibly  disconcerted  by  the  grave  and 
business-like  precision  v.itli  v/hicli  he  opened  the 
conversation.  She  regarded  him  -with  a  look  of 
puzzled   surprise. 

'•  Is  it  a  confidential  secret,  Mr.  Carlcton  ?  *'  she 
ventured  timidly  to  ask.  '-'In  your  turn,  you  have 
said  enough  to  stimulate  my  curiosity,  of  'which 
eminently  feminine  weakness  I  profess  to  have  my 
full   share.*' 

A  preliminary  scraping  of  the  fiddle  interrupted 
Carleton's  reply. 

'•'The  music  is  about  to  begin,''  he  said;  "we 
must  take   our   places   for   the  dance." 

"Are  you  fond  of  dancing,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  *'  asked 
Mary. 

"Y-es,  with  a  pleasant  partner;  usually,  though, 
I  more  enjoy  looking  on   at  others." 

"  Then,  suppose  you  play  spectator  this  time,  and 
continue  the   conversation  you    have  started." 

"I  am   delighted  you  have  made   the  proposition." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Harry?"  cried  Dick  Alio- 


178  WOODBOUIIXE. 

way,  as  they  moved  aside  to  make  room  for  the 
dancers.  "You  are  vranted  here  to  make  up  the 
set." 

"Please,  Cousm  Kichard,"  entreated  Mary,  "find 
another  vis-a-vis;  I  ask  to  be  excused  this  one 
time." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  replied  the  self-con- 
stituted master   of  ceremonies,   bowing  coldly. 

"  What  a  handsome  couple ! "  was  the  general 
comment  which  ran  in  a  whisper  round  the  room 
as  they   left. 

"Harry  is  hovering  on  the  brink,  Dick,"  said 
Copland;    "if  he   fall   in,   good   night." 

"Caught  in  the  toils,"  muttered  Alloway  to  him- 
self,  "after  the  warning   I  gave  him." 

In  the  deserted  drawing-room  they  found  a  secure 
retreat  from  further  interruption.  Seating  herself  on 
the  sofa  near  one  of  the  windows.  Miss  Littleton 
artfully  adjusted  the  folds  of  the  thick  damask  cur- 
tain ostensibly,  as  her  glance  indicated,  to  screen 
the  couple  from  prying  eyes,  but  really  so  as  to 
throw  a  shadovv^  veil  over  her  face  and  thus  enable 
her  to  defy  penetration  into  the  workings  of  her 
mind.  Thus  ensconced,  with  a  queenly  inclina- 
tion she  motioned  her  companion  to  a  place 
beside  her,  and  asked   with   startling  abruptness: 

"Xow,  sir,  what  is  it  you  would  have  of  Mr. 
Conrad?" 

The  question  savored  considerably  of  di.:d.unful 
hauteur. 

"She  treats  me  like  an  overgrown  school  boy," 
thought  Carlcton,  instinctively  rubbing  his  callow 
chin;   and,    it   must   be    confessed,    appearances    were 


AVOODBOUEXE.  179 

decidedly  against  our  diplomatic  neophyte's  success- 
ful  performance   of  liis   serious   role. 

^'I  cannot  hope  to  inspire  you  ^-itli  the  same 
degree  of  interest  I  feel  in  this  afiiiir,"  said  he; 
"yet  I  may  at  least  make  bold  to  bespeak  your 
sympathy  in  behalf  of  an  infatuated  fellow-creature 
Avho,  following  a  whimsical  humor  of  his  own,  is 
at  last  caught  floundering  in  a   bog  of  troubles."' 

"Say,  rather,  a  stargazing  philosopher  dropped 
into  a  well,"  replied  the  veiled  beauty,  in  the  same 
half  scornful  tone.  "'  Poor  fellow  I  he  has  my  heart- 
felt pity.     ISTow  for  the   cause  of  his   sorrows?" 

Thus  conjured,  Carleton  rapidly  and  yividly  por- 
trayed the  maze  of  difficulty  in  which  he  had  be- 
come entangled,  bringing  forward  in  sharp  relief  the 
salient  points  which  he  considered  most  likely  to 
produce  an  eifect  upon  his  fair  listener.  Xever  was 
eloquent  raconteur  rewarded  with  more  flattering 
attention.  Impenetrably  serene  and  still,  she  heard 
him  through  from  beginning  to  end.  He  could  not 
see  her  face  distinctly,  but  the  gentle  heaving  of 
her  bosom  betrayed  no  symptom  of  quickened  pul- 
saton,  and  no  unguarded  gesture  gave  evidence  of 
unusual   excitement. 

"'Strange!"  she  said  musingly,  when  he  was  done 
speaking,  with  a  depth  of  feeling  she  had  not 
before  evinced.  "lie  never  said  a  word  to  his 
nephew   of  his   correspondence  with   Mr.  Buchanan." 

"'So  I  conceived  at  first,"  said  Carleton,  adapting 
his  language  to  her  altered  mood;  "'but,  on  after- 
thought, his  silence  does  not  appear  to  me  in  the 
least  degree  surprising.  He  was  only  solicitous  to 
learn  whether  his  former  letter  had  reached  its  des- 
tination.    AVarned  of  his  approaching   end,  it  may  be 


ISO  TVOODBOURXE. 

of  the  suddenness  of  the  summons  Avhich  awaited 
him,  he  sought  to  divert  liis  mind  wholly  from 
worldly  distractions,  and  to  draw  the  curtain  of 
obliyion  on  the  painful  past.  His  few  remaining 
years  were  S2')ent  in  preparing  for  the  eternal  scene; 
death  was  the  familiar  companion  of  his  daily 
walks — the  theme  of  his  constant  meditations.  He 
lived  as  if  the  present  moment  might  be  the  last 
of  earth;  and,  although  he  was  apparently  free  from 
mental  disquietude,  his  soul  was  all  the  time  pay- 
ing cruel  rack-rent  for  its  battered  tenement,  and 
joyfully  when  the   final  notice  came 

'Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the   cheerful   clay. 
Xor  cast  one  longhig,   rmgering  look  behinl.''' 

Tjie  melting  pathos  with  which  he  rendered  his 
brief  tribute  to  the  memory  of  her  afflicted  cousin 
went  straight  to  her  heart  and  dissipated  every 
trace  of  cold  reserve.  Her  manner  was  unaffectedly 
cordial  and  frank  as  she  emerged  from  the  cur- 
tained shadow  and  turned  to  him  in  the  full-orbed 
radiance  of  her  glorious  beauty,  ^-'enough  to  make 
a  world   to  doat."' 

^Olany  thanks,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said,  *•' for 
your  entertaining  story.  It  has  interested  me  more 
than  I  have  words  to  express.  I  sincerely  wish  you 
may  be  successful  in  your  further  researches.  By 
all  means  I  advise  you  to  speak  with  Mr.  Conrad. 
But,  see  the  dance  is  over,  and  Lucy  has  promised 
to  sing   for   us   in  the   interlude." 

So,  after  all,  the  diplomatist  took  nothing  for 
his  pains,  though  he  was  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  his  fair  listener  was  not  a  whit  the  wiser  for 
his   revelations. 


WOODCOURXE.  181 

^*  Who  says  a  woman  cannot  keep  a  secret  ? "  lie 
mentally  ejaculated.  *•'  Dissemblers  by  instinct,  clis- 
guisers  by  habit,  deceivers  by  intuition,  they  are 
masked  batteries  of  deceitful  wiles  and  delusive 
temptations;  'tis  theirs  to  wheedle  and  cajole,  to 
lurk  in  ambush  for  unvrary  man,  and  disarming 
his  suspicions  by  flattery  and  blandishments,  to 
shear  him  of  his  strength  and  deliver  him  over 
bound  with  wythes  to  liis  adversary.  Delilahs  all  I 
Bah  I  what  gammon  I  Man,  the  tyrant  and  despot 
of  the  sex,  is  alone  responsible  for  the  cajoleries, 
deceits  and  crafty  recourses  of  woman.  These  are 
their  only  weapons  of  warfare,  and  whether  their 
conduct  be  censurable  or  not,  depends  on  the  end 
to   be   gained." 

"With  these  incoherent  and  contradictory  ideas 
chasiuGf  each  other  throu2:h  his  discomfited  brain, 
he  bowed  his  acknowledgments  of  her  appreciative 
speech  with  graceful  courtesy,  and,  resigning  their 
seats  to  the  tired  dancers,  they  mingled  with  the 
joyous  throng  who  vrere  flocking  around  the  sweet 
songstress  already  seated  at  the  harpischord.  She 
was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  large  nevv'  music 
book — Mr.  Copland's  present — as  the  truants  ap- 
proached. 

'•Come,  Mary,"  she  said,  *•' choose   a  song   for  me." 

But  her  father's  cheery  voice  anticipated  Mary's 
selection;  the  vrhist  party  had  adjourned  to  hear 
her  sing — "  Eax  me  the  beuk,  bairn.  There  is  a 
sang  for  you.  I'se  warrant,  nane  o'  them  hae 
heard   it." 

The  enchantress  obeyed  his  command,  and  pres- 
ently the   touching   strains    of    "Auld   Eobin   Gray'' 


182  ^VOODBOUKXE. 

fell  upon  the  entranced  ears  of  the  comjxmy  in  a 
shoTrer  of  melodious  tears.  Everybody  was  in  ecsta- 
cies.  Even  the  flinty-hearted  "Exciseman,"  between 
the  music  and  the  punch-bowl,  grew  rapturously 
lachrymose,  and,  forgetting  his  so-called  official 
dignity,  kissed  the  fair  performer  on  both  her 
blushing  cheeks.  Other  songs  were  called  for  in 
quick  succession,  and  were  rendered  in  a  way  that, 
to  our  taste,  was  the  perfection  of  music  married 
to   immortal   verse. 

At  length  the  obliging  Lucy  had  to  give  over 
from  sheer  exhaustion  of  fatigue,  and,  be  it  recorded 
for  an  example  vrorthy  of  imitation  on  like  occa- 
sions, no  importunity  could  prevail  Avith  one  of  the 
other  less  gifted  daughters  of  song  there  assem- 
bled to  break  the  dulcet  charm  she  had  woven. 
ATe  cannot  stay  to  dvrell  on  each  delightful  feature 
of  this  festive  scene.  A  sterner  task  imperatively 
claims  our  attention.  In  diversions  such  as  vre 
feebly  described,  interlarded  with  a  profusion  of 
creature  comforts,  tlie  tide  of  enjoyment  flowed  on 
in  an  unbroken  stream  to  a  late  hour  of  the  night. 
Instead  of  his  national  TuUochgorum,  Mr.  Graeme 
was  well  content  to  let  young  folks  and  old  frisk 
through  the  intricacies  of  the  Virginia  reel,  and 
when  the  merry  guests  took  their  leave,  Lucy  had 
abundant  cause  for  unalloyed  satisfaction.  Mr.  T\'ad- 
dell   might  come   now   and   welcome. 

'•'Dick,"  said  Carleton,  with  a  sleepy  yawn,  as 
they  were  riding  slowly  home,  '-'Mary  Littleton  is, 
as  you  say,  a  beautiful  enigma.  I  have  lost  the 
wager." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  was  the  consoling  reply,  and 
the    matter    was    droi)ned. 


CHAPTER    XA^ 


5; 


K^ 

^ 


T  Avas  ^vell  iiigli  day-break  ^vlieii  the  two 
friends  arrived  home  from  the  party  at 
Bonhill.  Harry  did  not  Avait  to  be  in- 
yited,  but  went  straight  to  bed,  and  was 
soon  lost  to  the  music  of  the  cock's  shrill  clarion 
and  echoing  horn.  Kot  so  Mr.  Richard  Alloway; 
he  had  other  business  on  his  hands.  It  was  his 
rule  not  to  permit  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  at  any 
time  to  interfere  with  the  regular  routine  of  his 
domestic  administration.  Social  indulgences  were 
never  by  him  carried  to  an  excess  which  nnfitted 
him  for  the  performance  of  his  daily  avocations 
with  scrupulous  exactitude.  So,  donning  his  worky- 
day  clothes,  he  called  np  the  servant,  who  was 
sleeping  by  the  fire  in  the  hall,  ordered  a  fresh 
horse,  and  sallied  forth  on  his  accustomed  round. 
In  addition  to  the  ordinary  tasks,  there  was  a 
stalled  ox  to  be  slain  that  morning,  an  operation 
which  he  always  superintended  in  proper  person. 
The  first  faint'  streaks  of  the  dawn  were  glim- 
mering in  the  east,  the  air  was  crisp  and  frosty, 
and  a  soft,   feathery  mist  hovered    above   the  earth, 

(183) 


184  WOODBOURXE. 

making    the    dark    wood    appear    like    an   enchanted 
island   in   the   midst  of  a   vapory   sea. 

"Silent  vras  then  the  forest  bound, 
Save  the  red  breast's  note  and  the  riis'Jii:g  sound 
Of  frost-nipped  leaves  that  are  dropping   around, 
Or  the   deep-mouthed  cry  of  the  distant  hound 
That  opens  on  his  game." 

What  a  morning  for  a  fox-hunt,  Avas  Alloway's 
first  thought;  his  next  Avas  for  a  ride,  and  turning 
into  the  road  which  led  through  the  wood,  he  gave 
the  rein  to  his  horse,  and  went  dashing  along  at 
a  pace  which  soon  stirred  the  sluggish  blood  into 
a  warm  glow.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  main 
highway,  the  dim  outline  of  a  hum.an  form  whisked 
rapidly  across  the  open  space  in  front  of  him.  He 
saw  it  only  for  a  second;  but  there  could  be  no 
mistaking  that  burly  frame  and  rolling  gait. 

*'  Ship  ahoy ! "  shouted  Dick,  in  a  Yoice  which 
made   the  leaves   rustle  and  quiver   on   the  trees. 

The  figure  halted  suddenly,  and  Avas  heard  pant- 
ing and  blowing  like  a  porpoise. 

**miloa,  ye  bloody  ould  buccaneer,  where  the 
divil  are  ye  cruising  to  this  time  o'  the  morning?" 
Avas  Mr.  Alloway's  best  essay  at  an  Ii-ish  saluta- 
tion,  as   lie  rode  up  to  the  old  sailor. 

^''Och,  Misther  Dick,''  replied  Mike,  slowly  re- 
gaining his  presence  of  mind;  "and  its  only  your- 
self to  be  sure.  Bad  cess — I  mane  top  o'  the 
mornin'  and  the  blessin'  o'  St.  Patrick  to  your 
honor;  but  3'on've  knocked  me  down  on  my  bame 
ends   intirely." 

"Hulled    you    at    the    first     shot,    and   made    you 


wooDBOur.XE.  185 

round  to  in  a  hurry;  rather  ticklish  for  a  crazy 
old  ship  under  a  full  press  of  sail,  eh?  Well,  you 
are  my  prize,  Mike,  and  I  shall  see  you  safe  into 
port.  You  are  the  yery  man  I  was  looking  for. 
So,  vast  heave;  put  your  helm  up  or  do^Yn,  any 
way  you  please,  so  you  steer  a  bee-line  for  AVood- 
bourne  house." 

While  Dick  was  rattling  on  iu  this  comical  vein, 
the  umquihile  Jack-tar  was  holding  fast  to  both 
his  sides  and  struggling  hard  to  recover  breath 
sufficient  to  give  utterance  to  the  contending  emo- 
tions which  convulsed  his  sturdy  form  and  im- 
parted to  his  countenance  a  fearful  expression, 
somewhat  rueful  and  exceeding  wroth.  On  the 
ground  at  his  feet  lay  a  rusty  old  Brown  Bess  of 
a  musket,  which  he  eyed  vengefully.  Dick  had  not 
observed  him  closely  before,  owing  to  the  dimness 
of  the   light. 

*''Och,  the  murtherin',  thievin'  vaggabins,  Misther 
Dick,"  he  at  length  blurted  out,  and  paused  for  a 
fresh   start. 

*-Who,  Mike?  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter 
with  you  ? "  a,sked  Dick,  eagerly ;  he  had  never  seen 
the   old   sailor   in   such   a    passion   before. 

"Matther  wid  me?  Ye  may  well  ask  that;  an' 
sure  wouldn't  it  be  matther  enough  if  the  moradin' 
villains  had  run  away  with  your  honor's  own  beau- 
tiful boat?  By  the  bones  uv  my  ancestors,  it  is 
myself  that  will  be  afther  purshuin'  the  dirty 
blackguards  to  the  ind  o'  the  world,  an'  my  name 
is   not   Michael   Burke." 

"Xot  afoot  and  overland,  Mike?"  said  Dick,  re- 
pressing an  inclination    to   laugh.      "  Come,  tell  me 


IG* 


18G  WOODBOUKXE. 

-what  has  liajipened  to  put  yon   in   sncli    a    terrible 
stew.'' 

Thus  entreated,  Mike,  with  many  ejaculations  of 
rage  and  a  free  use  of  the  choicest  epitliets  his 
yocabulary  of  nautical  maledictions  afforded,  related 
his  pitiful  story.  He  could  not  tell  precisely  what 
was  the  hour,  but  it  was  after  midnight  last  gone, 
that  he  was  awaked  by  the  furious  barking  of  his 
faithful  house-dog,  which  told  as  plainly  as  if  the 
animal  had  spoken  the  words  that  there  were 
thieves  about.  Jumping  out  of  bed,  he  ran  to  tlie 
window  in  time  to  see  a  party  of  strange  men 
making  off  with  his  boat,  which  was  kept  moored 
in  a  small  cove  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  To 
snatch  up  his  gun  and  rush  to  the  door,  all  un- 
mindful of  the  plight  he  was  in,  was  the  work  of 
an  instant;  but,  before  he  could  raise  the  latch, 
his  wife  awoke  in  a  great  fright,  and,  with  a  loud 
screech,  at  one  bound  precipitated  herself  upon  him 
and  immediately  went  into  violent  hysterics.  She 
had  taken  due  advantage  of  Mike's  helpless  condi- 
tion on  retiring  for  the  night  to  give  him  a  piece 
of  her  mind,  and  now  she  was  convinced  her  long- 
suffering  spouse  was  meditating  summary  revenge; 
so  she  clung  to  him  like  grim  death,  weeping  and 
praying,  and  howling  and  begging  for  mercy  all  in 
a  breath.  It  was  a  fortunate  diversion  for  the 
marauders ;  as  by  the  time  Mike  had  succeeded  in 
assuring  "swate  Misthress  Murchuson "  that  she 
was  not  the  object  of  his  murderous  thoughts,  and 
to  make  her  understand  what  was  the  real  cause 
of  alarm,  the  boat  had  cleared  the  moutli  of  the 
cove    and    was    safe    from    pursuit.     But   Mike  had 


WOODBOURXE.  187 

not  been  a  bold  sea-rover  for  nothing.  He  watched 
the  "bloody  pirates*'  until  they  were  out  of  sight, 
and  the  water  being  as  smooth  as  glass  and  the 
stars  shining  brightly,  he  had  no  trouble  in  seeing 
them,  when  they  had  gotten  an  offing,  lay  their 
course  for  the  mouth  of  the  Potomac  river.  His 
plan  was  conceived  and  put  in  execution  with  a 
celerity  and  vigor  which  would  have  reflected  honor 
on  the  bold  and  enterprising  commander  of  the 
Endeavor  himself.  Shouldering  his  trusty  musket, 
and  giving  Mrs.  Murchuson  a  wide  berth  for  fear 
she  might  offer  to  interpose  an  obstacle  to  his 
design,  he  scudded  away  under  fall  sail  for  the 
neighboring  port  of  entry,  where  lie  was  sure  to 
find  the  assistance  he  needed  in  carrying  his 
rapidly   concocted  plan   into   effect. 

*''You  can  count  on  me  for  help,  heart  and  hand, 
old  friend,''  exclaimed  Alloway,  when  the  sailor  had 
finished  his  tale.  *'  Hurry  forward  and  have  every- 
thing in  readiness;  I  will  join  you  without  deiay," 
and,  speeding  Mike  on  his  way,  he  hastened  home- 
ward. 

At  the  lawn  gate  he  met  James,  the  butler,  who 
was  looking  for  him  with  a  note,  which  had  just 
that  moment  been  brought  by  a  servant  from  Clif- 
ton. The  bearer  said  his  orders  were  to  take  it  as 
fjuickly  as  possible  to  Mr.  Alloway, '  and  not  to 
tarry  for  an  answer.  Dick  glanced  at  the  super- 
scription; it  was  from  Mary  Littleton.  With  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  he  hastily  opened  the  letter, 
and   read   the   following   alarming   summons: 


188  "^VOODBOURXE. 

"Dear  CousI^^  Richard: 

"Please  come  to  me  as  speedily  as  you  can. 
Something  dreadful  has  happened;  I  knoAV  not  what. 
Don't   delay;    every    moment   is    as    precious   as   life. 

"  Your   distressed   cousin, 

"^Iary  Littleton.*' 

"Good  heavens  I"  thought  Alloway,  what  can  be  to 
pay  at  Clifton?"  But  there  was  no  time  for  specu- 
lation. His  gallantry  alone  would  have  prompted 
immediate  obedience  to  his  cousins  command;  but, 
from  his  knowledge  of  her  firm  and  courageous 
temper,  he  was  forced  to  conclude  that  this  bewil- 
dering missive  was  far  from  being  the  inspiration 
of  the  ordinary  pangs  and  fears  which  wars  and 
women   are   said   to   have   in   common. 

"James,"  said  he  to  the  servant,  "go  tell  your 
Uncle  AYilliam  he  need  not  wait  for  me,  and  see 
that  Mr.  Carleton  is  not  disturbed  until  I  get 
back.  Stay — there  is  another  thing  I  Avas  near  for- 
getting. Get  a  horse,  and  ride  as  fast  as  you  can 
on  the  road  to  Yeocomico  until  you  overtake  Mr. 
Burke.  Tell  him  not  to  stop  for  me;  he'll  under- 
stand. That's  all  I  have  to  say,"  he  added,  seeing 
the  man  was  hesitating  for  further  orders,  and 
plunging  into  a  nigh  jiath  through  the  wood  he 
proceeded  to  obey  Miss  Littleton's  mandate  at  the 
top  of  his   horse's   speed. 

The  excitement  of  a  night's  frolicking  is  not  con- 
ducive of  sound  slumber.  Such  was  Carleton's  ex- 
perience when   he  found    himself   wide    awake    after 


WOODBOULXE.  1S9 

having  slept  an  hour  or  two,  little  refreslied  and 
the  prey  of  nervous  restlessness.  His  senses  ivere 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  giddy  -whirl  of  intoxi- 
cation, and  the  gay  and  merry  scenes  he  had  just 
quitted  danced  before  his  eyes  in  a  -wild  phantas- 
magoria of  revelry.  One  object  only  was  clearly 
discernible  in  the  ever-shifting  maze  of  fancv,  a 
picture  never  to  be  erased  from  memory — -which 
'''seen  became  a  part  of  sight" — that  of  the  daz- 
zling vision  of  v»omanly  perfection,  the  queenly 
creature  who  Iiad  sat  and  listened  so  intently  to 
his  strange  story,  her  glorious  eyes  shining  like 
stars  in  the  dusky  twilight  sky,  and  her  head 
resting  on  one  fair  hand  which  pressed  back  the 
luxuriant  mass  of  hair  she  suffered  with  careless 
art  to  float  in  rich  undulations  over  her  neck  and 
shoulders.  Beyond  the  lingering  sense  of  sore 
chagrin  at  the  failure  of  his  deep-laid  scheme  to 
surprise  her  heart's  secret,  he  did  not  try  to 
analyze  the  sensations,  very  near  akin  to  love,  with 
which  she  had  inspired  him.  He  was  convinced  by 
that  one  interview^  that  the  interesting  stranger  was 
master  of  the  situation,  and  he  was  not  the  man 
''to  build  a  fair  house  on  another  man's  ground.'' 
Finding  it  utterly  vain  trying  to  woo  the  drowsy 
god  back  again,  he  arose,  dressed  in  haste,  and  de- 
scended to  the  halL  Seeing  nobody  stirring  about 
the  house,  he  concluded  his  host  vras  still  a-bed, 
and  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  to  while 
away  the  time  until  Alloway  made  his  appearance, 
was  to  take  another  leisurely  survey  of  that  charm- 
ing pleasure  ground— the  library.  This  time  it  is 
the  books   which   attract    his    particular   regard.     Of 


190  WOODBOUEXE. 

these  there  are  a  great  variety — principally  standard 
^vorks  in  every  department  of  letters,  and  many  of 
them  'exceedingly  rare  and  curious  specimens.  Mr. 
John  Austin  was  something  of  a  bibliophile,  and, 
although  he  did  not  exactly  regard  everything  as 
fish  "which  came  to  his  net,  he  was  far  from  in- 
dulging the  "hide-bound  humor"  of  a  severely 
censorious  judgment  in  gathering  his  supplies  of 
mental  pabulum.  Evidently  he  thought,  with  his 
favorite  author,  that  he  could  not  more  safely  and 
with  less  danger  scout  into  the  regions  of  sin  and 
fiilsity  than  by  reading  all  manner  of  disquisitions, 
and  hearing  all  manner  of  reason.  The  valuable 
collection  was  mainly  the  result  of  his  liberal  dis- 
position and  untmng  industry,  but  his  son  had  en- 
riched it  by  the  addition  of  the  most  recent  Eng- 
lish  and   Erench   publications. 

What  were  Carleton's  sensations  as  he  gazed  vrist- 
fully  at  this  rich  mine  of  treasured  lore  ?  ^Yhile 
at  College  he  had  frequently  been  heard  to  declare 
that  it  vras  the  darling  object  of  his  ambition  to 
become  a  distinguished  scholar — to  erect  an  en- 
during monument  of  his  fame  in  that  congenial 
field  of  intellectual  enterprise.  But  another  career 
was  marked  out  for  him  by  the  hand  of  over- 
ruling destiny.  Erom  blissful  academic  dreams,  he 
has  been  rudely  awakened  by  the  rush  and  roar  of 
angry,  surging  waters.  In  the  vortex  of  a  mighty 
revolution  he  must  plunge,  and,  Percy-like,  drag  up 
drown'd  honor  by  the  locks.  Young  as  he  was,  he 
was  well  fitted  to  bear  an  active  and  shining  part 
in  the  stirring  events  of  the  period.  The  faculties 
of  some  men  are   developed  with  amazing  precocity. 


WOODBOURXE.  191 

At  an  early  age,  before  tliey  have  reached  the  arbi- 
trary limit  of  parental  pupilage,  their  matchless 
powers  seem  to  have  attained  the  fullest  stature, 
and  they  need  only  the  spur  of  opportunity  to  call 
them  into  vigorous  play.  Experience  is,  indeed,  in- 
dispensable to  the  complete  fruition  of  genius;  it 
corrects  the  judgment,  informs  the  understanding, 
enlarges  the  heart,  and  chastens  the  spirit,  incul- 
cating prudence  and  enforcing  the  necessity  of  vig- 
ilant self-control.  But  while  it  points  out  the  true 
mark  and  gives  steadiness  to  the  aim,  it  adds 
nothing  to  the  strength  of  the  arm  that  bends  the 
springing  bow.  That  is  the  jealous  boon  of  the 
Almighty  Giver  bestowed  for  great  purposes  on  the 
chosen  instruments  of  providential  design.  To  this 
favored  class,  the  eagles  of  their  kind,  belonged 
Henry  Carle  ton.  To  a  joyous  and  sanguine  tem- 
perament, and  a  ready  and  sparkling  wit,  he  united 
a  judgment  sagacious,  ripe  and  discerning  beyond 
his  years,  a  daring  and  determined  spirit,  and  a 
soul  which  glowed  with  the  vestal  fire  of  sincerely 
patriotic  devotion.  With  such  qualities,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  in  after  years  he  won  the  intimate 
confidence  and  friendship  of  the  most  severely  just 
judge  of  the  motives  and  conduct  of  his  fellows — 
"the  man  who  was  first  in  war,  first  in  peace, 
and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen.''  It  is 
true,  he  does  not  appear  to  be  directly  involved 
with  the  train  of  circumstances  which  form  the 
ground  work  of  the  present  narrative;  yet  we  have 
thought  proper  to  accord  him  a  passing  tribute, 
and  to  express  the  hope  that  his  appearance  in 
ever  so   subordinate   a  part  on  our   mimic  stage  may 


192  wooDBorp.XE.  • 

afford   some   forcsliadowing   of   the   cliaractcr   lie   dis- 
played in   real   action. 

On  this  occasion  our  cavaiier  seems  to  be  greatly 
puzzled  to  find  such  light  diversion  as  accords  Avith 
the  excited  frame  of  his  mind.  At  length  he 
selects  at  random  a  volume  of  the  handsome  new 
edition  of  Pope,  "U'hich  is  a  portion  of  Mr.  Eichard 
Austin's  latest  contributions  to  the  stock  of  mis- 
cellaneous literature.  It  is  all  correspondence.  There 
is  a  folded  page  on  which  a  passage  has  been 
marked  with  a  pencil.  He  reads  it  aloud :  "  Great 
God  I  what  an  incongruous  animal  man  is!  How 
unsettled  in  his  best  part,  his  soul,  and  how  change- 
able and  variable  in  his  frame  of  body;  the  con- 
stancy of  the  one  shook  by  every  notion,  the  tem- 
perament of  the  other  affected  by  every  blast  of 
wind.  What  is  he  altogether  but  one  inconsistency? 
Sickness  and  pain  are  the  lot  of  one-half  of  him; 
doubt  and  fear  the  portion  of  the  other.  AVhat  a 
bustle  we  make  about  passing  our  time,  when  all 
our  span  is  but  a  point.  "What  aims  and  ambi- 
tions are  crowded  in  this  little  instant  of  ^ur  life 
which  is  rounded  with  a  sleep.  Our  whole  extent 
of  being  is  no  more  in  the  eye  of  Him  who  gave 
it  than  a  scarce  perceptible  moment  of  duration. 
Those  animals  whose  circle  of  being  is  limited  by 
three  or  four  hours,  as  the  naturalists  tell  us,  are 
yet  as  long-lived  and  possess  as  wide  a  scene  of 
action  as  man,  if  we  consider  him  with  a  view  to 
all  space  and  all  eternity.  "Who  knows  what  plots, 
what  achievements  a  mite  may  perform  in  his  king- 
dom of  a  grain  of  dust  within  his  life  of  some 
minutes,  and   of    how   much   less    consideration   than 


WOODBOURXE.  193 

this  is  the  lifo  of  man  in  the  sight  of  God,  Avho 
is  from  ever  and  forever !  AVho  that  thinks  in  this 
train  but  must  see  the  world  and  its  contemptibla 
grandeurs  lessen  before  him  at  every  thought.  'Tis 
enough  to  make  our  brains  stupefied  in  a  poize 
of  inaction,  void  of  all  desires,  of  all  delights,  of 
all   friendships.'' 

Carleton  mused:  "'Twcre  a  tv/inge  indeed,  thought 
he,  could  extort  such  a  lugubrious  note  as  this 
from  the  sweet  swan  of  Twickenham.  He  must 
have  been  woefully  haunted  with  blue-devils.  Could 
it  be  imagined  that  the  maudlin  creature  who  vented 
this  nauseating  rheum  of  splenetic  humor  was  the 
same  author  who  wrote  the  '•  Messiah"  and  the 
'•'Essay  on  Man?"'  A  pitiable  world  it  would  be 
if  everybody  in  it  moralized  in  so  desponding  and 
distempered  a  train.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  that 
man  is  an  incongruous  animal — many  sided,  many 
handed,  and  many  minded;  if  ho  were  not,  what  a 
humdrum  alfair  would  be  the  epic  of  human  life? 
For  all  the  snarling  of  mangy  cynics,  he  is  a  most 
marvellous  piece  of  mechanism,  well  deserving  the 
eulogy  of  the  divinest  of  bards — "noble  in  reason, 
infinite  in  faculties,  in  form  and  moving,  how  ex- 
press and  admirable,  in  action  how  like  an  angel, 
in  apprehension  how  like  a  god  I"  Such  is  the 
light  in  which  he  should  be  taught  to  regard  him- 
self, and  without  the  just  pride  which  is  the  mani- 
festation of  the  Divinity  which  stirs  within  him, 
he  would  be  more  despicable  than  the  tiniest  midge 
that  disports   its   brief  hour  in   the   stmbeam." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped,"  he  continued,  speaking 
aloud,   ''•that   Mr.  Eichard  Austin  was  not  prevailed 


10  i  WOODBOURXE. 

upon  to  swallow  siicli  empirical  stuff  as  an  anti- 
dote for  the  bane  of  a  miserable  life.  Dick's  a 
happy  fellow;  how  I  envy  him  his  knack  of  taking 
the  world  so  easy.  Had  this  peripatetic  personage 
been  my  uncle,  I  would  not  have  had  a  day's 
peace  of  mind  until  I  had  fully  realized  the  folly 
of  that  wisdom  which  is  to  be  had  by  prying  into 
forbidden  secrets.  Call  it  what  you  Avill,  childish 
superstition,  idle  curiosity — but  if  this  old  house 
belonged  to  me,  it  should  be  made  to  give  up  its 
secret,  or  else  I  would  blow  it  up  with  gun- 
powder." 

"Playing  Guy  Fawkcs,  eh?"   cried  a  voice  behind 
him. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 


w§ 


T  was  AlioYv'ay  who  had  come  hurriedly 
into  the  room  unperceived.  Carleton 
started  at  the  sudden  apparition.  "Why, 
Dick,"  he  excLaimed,  '•'!  thought  you  were 
all  this  time  fast  asleep,  and  here  you  are  looking 
as  if  you  had  been  riding  a  steeple-chase,  and  you 
are  as  solemn  as  an  owl  and  as  mysterious  as  the 
devih  Hang  it  all  I  Don't  stand  there  gaping  like 
a  moon-calf  in  a  dumb  show,  but  out  with  it  at 
once.     "U^hat  in   the   world    have  you   been  doing?" 

*'.Tn  a  moment,  Harry."  He  went  out,  gave  an 
order  to  the  servant  and  returned.  "Xow,"  said 
he,  "sit  down  and  let  me  have  your  undivided 
attention.  It  is  a  real  mystery  this  time;  I  sin- 
cerely trust  it  may  not  lead  to  a  tragical  dis- 
closure." 

"He  is  evidently  in  earnest,"  thought  Carleton, 
seating  himself  in  the  nearest  chair,  arrectis  aurihis. 

"Eead  that,"  said  Dick,  giving  him  Miss  Little- 
ton's note,  by  way  of  dramatic  prologue. 

On  perusing  it  the  last  shade  of  incredulity  van- 
ished  from  his   brow;    he    listened   eagerly.      Briefly 


(195) 


196  "WOODBOULXE. 

recounting  tlie  occurrences  Tve  liave  narrated,  Allo- 
way  -w-ent  on  to  say:  "When  I  arrived  at  Clifton 
I  found  my  cousin  -^'aiting  for  nie  in  the  parlor. 
She  Avas  very  pale,  but  perfectly  composed  and 
self-possessed.  It  is  surprising  ^vhat  wonderful  com- 
mand over  their  feelings  some  women  have.  After 
thanking  me  in  one  earnest  word  for  my  prompt- 
ness, she  at  once  made  known  the  reason  of  her 
importunate  message.  Colonel  Littleton  and  herself 
were  the  last  of  the  company  to  leave  Bonhill,  she 
having  lingered  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Graeme.  On 
reaching  home,  she  had  barely  gone  to  her  room 
before  she  heard  the  furious  galloping  of  a  horse, 
and,  as  it  stopped  in  front  of  the  door,  a  voice, 
which  she  instantly  recognized  as  Mr.  Thomi^son's, 
bawled  out:  M^ittleton,  Littleton!'  Her  father  had 
not  quitted  the  hall,  and  going  quickly  to  the 
door  exclaimed,  as  he  opened  it  and  caught  sight 
of  the  collector,  Oly  God,  neighbor,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ? '  Alarmed,  she  ran  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out.  There  sat  old  Jake  on  his 
horse,  a  figure  to  look  upon.  He  was  in  a  state  of 
excitement  bordering  on  phrensy;  his  features  were 
convulsed  with  rage,  and  he  was  talking  and  ges- 
ticulating at  a  fearful  rate.  She  could  not  make 
out  what  he  was  saying,  farther  than  that  some- 
thing was  the  matter  with  Archie,  and  now  and 
then  she  was  convinced  that  she  caught  an  un- 
complimentary allusion  to  her  father's  guest.  Pres- 
ently, he  wheeled  his  horse  around,  and,  throwing  a 
parting  word  over  his  shoulder,  went  flying  down 
the  avenue  with  break-neck  speed.  Hurrying  down 
stairs,  she  met  her  father.  She  had  never  seen  him 
more    agitated    and    distressed.     *  This   is    a    terribly 


•VN-OODBOrE^'E.  197 

bad  business,  my  daughter/  lie  said.  *  Thompson's 
little  boy  has  been  si^irited  away— carried  off  in  the 
night;  two  of  his  hands  are  reported  to  be  miss- 
ing, and  he  himself  is  as  mad  as  a  March  hare, 
for  he  swears  that  Mr.  Conrad  is  the  cause  of  it 
all/  Well  nigh  fainting  willi  apprehension  and 
alarm — any  other  woman  would  have  swooned  away 
on  the  spot — she  besought  him  to  tell  her  how  it 
happened.  He  replied  that  he  could  not  get  a  clear 
or  definite  account  from  the  Collector,  he  raved  so 
incoherently;  but,  at  her  earnest  entreaty,  he  very 
promptly  ordered  his  horse  and  set  out  in  pursuit 
of  his  demented  neighbor.  "When  he  was  gone,  her 
fears  increased,  and,  in  her  extremity,  she  sent  for 
me.  You  remember  that  fellow  we  saw  yesterday 
on  the  riyer  in  a  skiff?" 

Carleton.—''Ti'iQ   sailor?     Yes,   and   the   boy   also." 

AUov:ay.—''l.hQ  yillain  was  following  Archie,  and 
if  any  harm  has  befiillen  the  poor  lad  he  is  prob- 
ably the  author  of  it."  Here  he  related  the  ad- 
venture of  the  oak,  with  which  the  reader  is  familiar. 

CarJeion. — "Xo  doubt  the  rascal  had  a  hand  in 
it—yery  likely  the  principal;  but  he  must  have 
had  help   in   such   a   daring   undertaking." 

Dick.— "  Precisely  what  the  Collector  said,  only  he 
accuses  Mr.  Conrad  of  being  the  prime  mover  in 
the  scheme  of  villainy,  and  that  was  the  greatest 
source  of  trouble  to  my  fair  cousin,  as  much  as 
she  felt  on  Archie's  account.  'Xothing,'  said  she, 
'could  be  more  absolutely  false,  not  to  say  prepos- 
perous.'  I  do  not  know  what  possessed  me,  but  I 
started  to  say  something  about  the  suspected  party 
being  a  stranger,  and  immediately  wished  the  words 
1^* 


198  'V\'OODBOrRXE. 

had  clioked  me.  'Stay/  slie  cried— and  you  should 
have  seen  how  the  blood  rushed  into  her  face  and 
then  flowed  back  upon  her  heart,  leaving  her  as 
■white  as  an  alabaster  figure,  while  her  eyes  sparkled 
and  flashed  like  two  great  diamonds— 'I  know  what 
it  is  you  would  say.  Stranger  let  him  be;  but,  for 
the  sake  of  your  own  dear  honor,  breathe  not  a 
syllable  of  the  unjust  suspicion  which  your  looks 
imply.  It  is  no  time  for  explanations.  Still  as  I 
have  invited  this  conference  in  a  matter  of  the 
most  delicate  and  distressing  nature,  you  have  a 
right  to  expect  my  entire  confidence  shall  be  given 
you.  In  due  time  you  will  be  fully  gratified.  For 
Ihe  present  it  is  enough  for  you  to  know  that  he 
in  whose  behalf  I  bespeak  your  interest,  is  my 
affianced  husband,  the  peer  of  the  best  gentleman 
in  the  land.'  Jupiter,  how  splendidly  she  said  that, 
and  how  thoroughbred  she  looked  I" 

Seeing  Carleton  smile  at  this  last  characteristic 
simile,  he  quickly  continued,  "It  was  impossible  to 
gainsay  this  candid  declaration.  The  starch  was 
completely  taken  out  of  me.  I  felt  an  indescribable 
thrill  of  sympathy  and  admiration,  and  hastened  to 
assure  my  lovely  cousin  that  my  poor  service  was 
entirely  at  her  command.  And  had  she  ordered  me 
to  bring  her  the  head  of  the  Grand  Turk,  I  should 
have  started,  I  rerily  believe,  post-haste  for  Con- 
stantinople on   horseback." 

"0  Dea  artel  What  a  wonderful  metamorphosis 
the  heartless  coquette  has  undergone  I"  Carleton 
could  not  resist  the   temptation  of  saying. 

"I  deserve  your  ill-timed  sarcasm,  Harry,"  said 
the  penitent  Eichard,  "but  I  beg  you  will  not  again 
interrupt  me.     As  I  was   saying,   I   asked  her  how  I 


WOODBOUEyE.  199 

could  best  aid  licr  in  the  matter.  She  replied  that 
Mr.  C-oruad  Tvas  now  at  Yeocomico,  whither  he 
went  yesterday  aft<?rnoon  on  business.  He  was  ex- 
pected back  some  time  during  the  morning.  Of 
this  her  father  knew  nothing.  She  wished  that  I 
would  seek  him  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  apprise 
him  of  what  has  happened  before  that  hot-headed 
old  blunderbuss  of  a  tory  brings  the  hue  and  cry 
of  the  country  about  his  ears — a  result  which  would 
exasperate  the  high-spirited  gentleman  beyond  en- 
durance, besides  being  to  her  mortifying  in  the 
extreme.  This  I  readily  undertook  to  do,  and  seeing 
that  she  had  glanced  repeatedly  at  the  clock  and 
noted  every  swing  of  the  pendulum,  *one  word 
more,'  said  I;  *may  I  take  Mr.  Carleton  with 
me?'  'As  you  please,'  said  she;  and  ofif  I  went 
like  a  shot,  and  here  I  am,  and  breakfast  is  ready, 
and  our  horses  are  at  the  door.  You  see,  Harry," 
added  Dick,  persuasively,  ''it  is  a  ticklish  piece  of 
business,  and  I  shall  need  your  tact  to  help  me 
through   with   it." 

'•Anything  to  oblige  you,  Dick,"'  said  Carleton ; 
"but  I  must  confess  that  the  salt  .has  lost  its 
savor.  Miss  Littleton's  affianced  husband  I  I"m 
sped;  "tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide'^ 
say,  Dick,  why  not  let  the  old  tory  and  the  French- 
man fight  it  out  a-la-mort  V 

"Come,  Harry,''  replied  his  host  with  dignity; 
"it  is  no  time  for  pleasantry.  I  feel  acutely  for 
Mr.  Thompson,  and  do  earnestly  hope  that  nothing 
evil   has  happened  to  poor   little  Archie." 

"I  stand  reproved,  Dickon,"  protested  Carleton, 
"so,  en  avant!'' 


CHAPTER    XYII. 


f^l  ^l''""^"^   morning  meal  hurriedly  prirtiikcn,  Allo- 

"^'  *p)^     Avay    and     Carleton     mounted    their    fleet 

^^     steeds,   and    in    nowhile  gained    the    snm- 

^    mit  of   the    high    hill    within    a    mile   of 

the  port  of  entry,  from  which  was  a  full  view  of 
the  broad  Potomac.  The  first  object  which  greeted 
their  sight  on  its  placid  bosom  was  the  gallant 
bark  Katrine,  looming  upon  the  horizon  like  some 
"Jmge  bird  of  heavenly  plumage  fair,"  every  stitch 
of  her  canvas  being  flung  out  to  catch  the  light 
breeze.  At  this  stage,  the  intersection  of  two  roads, 
they  were  jojned  by  another  horseman,  who  came 
thundering  along  the  highway  known  as  the 
"Neck"  road,  bloody  Avith  spurring,  fiery-red  with 
speed. 

"Jupiter!"  exclaimed  Alloway,  "if  it  is  not  the 
Collector." 

It  was  indeed  Mr.  Jacob  Thompson,  still  in  a 
towering  rage  and  looking  the  incarnation  of  ven- 
geance and  destruction.  His  clothes,  which  had  not 
been  changed  since  the  party,  were  scarcely  dis- 
tmguishable   in    pattern    for    the    mud    with    wliicli 


(2CCJ 


^'OODBOUEXE.  201 

he  was  covered  from  head  to  foot;  his  gaunt  and 
burly  form  trembled  with  passion,  and  he  shook 
his  clenched  hand  at  the  ship,  shouting  as  he  did 
so   with  the   cry   of  a  baffled   tiger: 

"Gone,   by   God!   the   infernal   black  i)irate." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Thompson,"  cried  the 
friends  in  a  breath,  "vrliat  is  the  meaning  of  this 
pother?  ■' 

''  0,  you  marauding  scoundrel ! "  exclaimed  the 
irate  old  gentleman,  taking  no  notice  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  *'  I'll  be  even  with  you  yet.  Ill  live  to  see 
you  hanging  like  a  dog  at  the  yard-arm  of  your 
own   vessel." 

**'AVho  is  it?"  inquired  Dick,  eagerly;  "surely 
not  Captain  Dent  ?  " 

"It  is  Dent,  sir,"  roared  the  Collector,  as  if  he 
defied  Dick  to  deny  it;  "Dent,  the  deceitful,  pala- 
vering,  kidnapping  villain." 

Diclc. — "'Kidnapping!  Have  they  carried  Archie 
off  in  the  vessel?" 

Collector. — "Archie  is  gone,  sir;  and,  what  U  moro», 
two  of  my  best  hands." 

"Dunmore's  proclamation,"  chimed  in  the  mis- 
chievous Carleton,  by  way  of  adding  fuel  to  -the 
flame  of  the  old   gentleman's  wrath. 

"D — n  Dunmore!"  he  exclaimed;  "'the  black- 
hearted, white-livered  poltroon.  He  ran  away  at  the 
first  gun,  and  left  the  like  of  me  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  rebels,  thieves  and  murderers.  He  will 
get  his  deserts  when  the  King  hears  of  these  out- 
rages. Haven't  you  brought  the  country  to  a  pretty 
pass  among  you?  Xo  law,  no  officers,  no  any- 
thing— ^just  a  d — d  den  of  savages  and  wild  beasts. 


202  -T^'OODBOUEi^E. 

You  go  and  kick  up  a  row  because  you  want  to 
live  without  paying  your  taxes  to  the  goyerument 
you  belong  to;  and  this  man  they  call  a  goyernor 
gets  scared  and  sneaks  off,  and  then  calls  upon  the 
negroes  to  help  him.  A  pretty  way  to  put  down 
one  rebellion  by  raising  a  vrorse;  and  he  neyer  once 
asks  leaye  of  their  owners  whether  they  be  loyal 
men  or  not.  He  shall  be  impeached  as  sure  as 
there  is   a   Parliament   sitting  in   London." 

Seeing  that  the  old  gentleman  was  so  beside  him- 
self with  anger  that  nothing  was  to  be  gotten  from 
liini  but  an  incoherent  tirade  of  abuse  of  eyerybody 
and  eyerything,  Alio  way  thought  to  diyert  the  tide 
of  his  wrath  by  saying  that  Carleton  and  he  were 
out  in  search  of  Mr.  Conrad.  It  was  the  signal  of 
another   explosion. 

"Looking  for  him,  are  you?  Then  you  may  as 
well  turn  round  and  go  back  home.  You'll  not 
see  the  rascal  again  in  a  hurry,  I'll  be  bound.  I 
knew  him  for  a  d — d  French  spy  as  soon  as  I  set 
eyes  on  him;  I  said  as  much  to  Littleton.  Eh  I 
Why,   there  he   is   noyr." 

It  was  not  Conrad  as  the  friends  naturally  sur- 
mised, but  Colonel  Littleton,  a2:)proaching  them  from 
the  direction  of  Yeocomico.  As  he  rode  up  his 
greeting  was  constrained  and  embarrassed,  and 
althougli  he  tried  hard  to  master  his  emotion,  per- 
plexity and  chagrin  vrere  plainly  yisible  in   his  face. 

"You  are  early  abroad  after  the  fi'olic  last  night, 
young  gentlemen,"  said  he  to  Alloway  and  Carle- 
ton,  and  then,  as  the  former  wasjabout  to  reply, 
turning  quickly  to  Mr.  Thompson,  he  continued, 
"Come,  neighbor,  it's  no  use  tarrying  here;  I'll 
see  you  home." 


WOODBOURXE.  203 

The  Collector  gave  a  yengeful  glance  at  the 
Katrine.  She  had  by  this  time  rounded  Smith's 
Point,  and  was  standing  down  the  bay.  Then, 
without  a  word,  he  accepted  Colonel  Littleton's 
proposal,  and  they  rode  away  together.  Eecoyering 
from  his  surprise,  Alloway  called  to  Colonel  Little- 
ton to  inquire  whether  he  had  seen  or  heard  aught 
of  Mr.   Conrad   in   his   ride. 

"He's  gone!'"'  replied  the  ''Squire,  sharply  and 
without  turning  his  head. 

The  young  cayaliers  sat  regarding  each  other  in 
blank  astonishment. 

"'Well,  Harry,"  said  Dick,  drawing  in  a  deep 
breath,  and  emitting  it  in  a  most  musical,  most 
melancholy  whistle,   "'what's  to  be  done  now?" 

Eyen  the  quick-witted  Carleton  was  for  once 
dumbfounded.  "Would  it  were  bed-time  and  all 
were  well,"  he  was  in  the  act  of  saying,  when  he 
was  interrupted  by  a  hoarse  yoice  calling:  "0,  Mr. 
Kichard,  I  certainly  am  glad  to  see  you,"  and  at 
the  same  moment  an  old  man,  dressed  like  a  fisher- 
man, shambled  out  of  a  thicket  near  the  road  and 
stood  before  them.  He  stuck  the  paddle,  which 
he  carried  on  his  shoulder,  in  the  ground,  and 
leant  on   it  with   both  hands. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Bragg,"  said  Dick;  "'you 
seem  tired." 

"'An'  vrell  I  mought  be,*'  replied  the  fisherman ; 
"I  haye  walked  eyery  blessed  step  of  the  way  from 
my  house,  as  hard  as  I  could  put  foot  to  the 
ground,  with  this  here  letter  for  Mr.  Graum,  which 
it  was  sent  to  him  by  a  gentleman  on  board  of 
the  ycssel,  and  he   told  me    to    be    sure  _he    got    it 


204  WOODBOUKNE. 

betimes    this    morning.     K'ot\^,   Mr.   Eichard,   if   you 
be  going  s#on — ," 

"I  can  save  you  the  rest  of  the  journey?  Cer- 
tainly," replied  Allovray,  taking  the  letter  from  the 
old  man's  hand;   "so  you  saw  the  Katrine  off?" 

Bragg. — "Yes,  sir;  I  was  'long  side  of  her  when 
she  weighed  anchor.  You  see,  the  Captain  wanted 
me  to  bring  him  some  oysters." 

Dich — "'Had  she  many  passengers?" 

Bragg. — "I  can't  speak  for  certain  about  that. 
I  didn't  see  nobody  but  the  Scotch  gentleman  as 
give  me  the  letter.  There  was  two  niggers  in  a 
big  boat  beggin'  and  entrcatin'  of  the  Captain  in 
the  pitifullest  manner  to  take  'em  on  board;  but 
he  told  'em  to  go  back  home  and  give  his  re- 
specks  to  their  master  and  tell  him  he  wasn't  in 
the  nigger  kidnappin'  business  at  this  pertic^ler 
time.  While  they  was  a  chaffin,  I  seen  another. big 
boat  come  out  of  the  creek.  Soon  as  ever  them 
darkies  got  sight  of  her  they  'peared  to  know  ^gg- 
zactly  what  was  to  pay,  for  they  let  go  the  painter 
and  shot  for  shore  'way  up  tlie  river.  Then  come 
the  chase, — " 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bragg,  that's  all  I  wish  to 
know,"   said   Dick,   preparing  to  go. 

"Hold  on  one  second,  Mr.  Eichard,"  said  the 
fisherman;  "what  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Thomp- 
son ?  He  come  straining  by  me  like  he  wan't 
caring  if  ho  killed  his  horse  or  broke  his  own 
neck." 

"They  were  his  negroes  who  were  running  away," 
replied  Alloway,  and  commending  the  loquacions 
fisherman   to    a    more   appreciative   audience,   he   and 


wooDLOUEXi:.  205 

Carleton  were  off  again  on  tlie  wings  of  the  wind. 
They  separated  at  the  road  leading  to  AVoodbourne, 
Alloway  proceeding  directly  to  Bonhill. 

The  day  was  now  far  spent;  'Mr.  Graeme  was 
not.  long  returned  from  his  usual  ride.  Discarding 
ceremony,  the  young  man  rushed  into  his  presence 
and,  thrusting  the  letter  into  his  hand,  exclaimed: 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Graeme,  tell  me  quickly 
what  news  is  in  it." 

The  good  gentleman  stared  at  his  excited  neigh- 
bor as  if  he  thought  he  had  surely  ^'fjane  gyte;'^  but 
he  was  so  completely  knocked  off  his  balance  as  to 
be  incapable  of  resenting  the  indecorous  proceeding. 
Hastily  breaking  the  seal,  he  ran  his  eye  over  the 
letter  in  search  of  the  explanation  of  this  un- 
gracious intrusion  on  his  privacy.  Suddenly  his 
manner  changed;  he  became  fearfully  agitated,  and 
his  countenance  betrayed  a  variety  of  indescribable 
emotions.  Eecovering  his  habitual  self-control  by  a 
strong  effort,  he  slowly  and  attentively  reperused 
the  letter,  and,  having  done  so,  remained  some 
minutes  in  deep  thought.  Then  he  rose  from  his 
chair,  and,  turning  to  Alloway,  said  in  a  calm  and 
decided  tone:  ^'Bide  here  a  time,  Eichard,  lad; 
aiblins  ye  might  wish  to  speak  a  word  wi'  Lucy; 
but  ye  maunna  be  ganging  hame  before  my  return 
frae  Clifton;"  and  before  his  visitor  could  utter  a 
vrord  in  reply,  he  snatched  up  his  hat  and  cane 
and  left  the  room.  In  the  hall  he  met  his  daughter, 
to  whom  he  communicated  something  in  a  low, 
earnest  tone,  and  ere  another  hour  elapses,  he  is 
seen  in  close  conference  with  Mary  Littleton  and 
her   father. 

18 


CHAPTER    XYIII. 


HOEOUGHLY  yrorn  down  by  the  day's 
rough  ^YOl%  Carleton  as  soon  as  lie  reached 
Y\'oodbonrne  threw  himself  to  rest  on  the 
settle  in  the  library.  "Well,"  said  he, 
"this  beats  cock-fightiDg  out  of  sight,  as  Bob  Tem- 
ple would  say,  and  fox-hunting,  too,  from  the  way 
my  limbs  aclie ;  just  enough  of  the  flavor  of  vil- 
lainy to  give  it  relish.  AVhat  can  that  rascally 
skipper  be  up  to?  Mary  Littleton's  fiancee  has  de- 
camped, too;  the  old,  sorrowful  story;  it's  a  sad 
business;  yet,  what's  the  loss  of  one  lover  to  a 
girl  who  has  a  pack  of  them  that  will  come  at 
her  whistle?  AVho  knows  that  it  may  not  yet  be 
my  turn?  Pshal  I  verily  believe  I  am  getting  to 
be  as  big  a  ninny  as  the  rest  of  them.  Amour  tii 
pcrdis  Troie!  A  deep  saying  that  of  the  divine 
Pascal;  there's  indeed  no  guessing  what  would  have 
happened  to  the  human  family  had  Madam  Cleo- 
patra's nose  been  a  little  shorter.  Heigh  hoi  This 
is  excellent  sport  for  the  piping  times  of  peace; 
but  it  is  not  the  way  to  purge  these  English  hence. 
Shame    upon    the    whole    tribe    of    lusty 

<20G) 


young   fel- 


wooDBOunXE.  207 

lows,  myself  among  the  number,  to  be  dancing 
attendance  here  on  a  pair  of  black  or  blue  eyes,  or 
else  galloping  over  the  country  after  hounds  and 
liorn,  when  they  should  be  in  the  trenches  at 
Boston  with  muskets  in  their  hands.  But  Rome 
was  not  built  in  a  day;  neither  can  a  cavalry 
company  be  recruited  and  equipped  for  service  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I  have  gained  one  im- 
portant point.  Alloway  has  engaged  to  help  me, 
and  he  is  a  tower  of  strength.  I  have  always  en- 
tertained a  warm  regard  for  Dick's  amiable  quali- 
ties, but  I  had  no  conception  before  of  the  amount 
of  good,  stern  stuff  that  Avas  in  him.  Bold,  alert, 
sharp-sighted  and  strong-limbed,  he  is  a  born  stark 
trooper.  I  wish  I  had  a  hundred  just  like  him 
enlisted  for  the  war  and  determined  to  fight  to  the 
bitter  end.''  With  which  patriotic  aspiration  his 
soliloquy  ended,  and  another  minute  he  was  fast 
locked  in  the  embrace  of  the   drowsy  god. 

He  had  been  scarcely  an  hour  asleep  before  he 
was  awakened  by  the  entrance  of  a  visitor.  It  was 
the  young  lawyer.  He,  too,  sliowed  evident  signs 
of  having  been  considerably  jostled  from  his  usual 
placid  and   sedate   demeanor. 

**A11  alone,  Harry?"  he  exclaimed,  barely  giving 
Carleton  time  to  say  good  morning.  *' Where's  Allo- 
way? What's  all  the  muss  about?  The  whole 
country  is  up  in  arms,  but  devil  a  soul  can  tell 
what  it  means.  Dick,  they  say,  is  in  the  secret; 
where  can  I  find  him?" 

Here  James,  v/ho  had  ushered  in  Mr.  Copland, 
explained  the  cause  of  his  master's  detention  at 
Bonhill. 


208  WOODBOURXE. 

"But  lie  must  have  told  you  eveiTtbing,  Harry; 
that's  the  next  best  eTidence.  Tell  me,  now,  the 
exact  truth  of  the  matter ;  I  haye  had  enough  of 
Temple's   palaver." 

"What  I  know  is  soon  told,"  replied  Carleton. 
''It  seems  that  this  Captain  Dent,  with  what  mo- 
tive is  beyond  conjecture,  has  abducted  old  Mr. 
Thompson's  foster-son,  and  it  is  moreover  surmised 
by  some  people  that  a  certain  foreign  adventurer, 
in  whom  a  lady  acquaintance  of  ours  is  said  to  be 
interested,   h:id  a  hand  in  the  nefarious  transaction." 

Co2)Ja?icl — "The  Frenchman?  Why,  Bob  Temple 
just  now  informed  me  that  he  and  Miss  Littleton 
were  engaged  to  be  married." 

Harry. — "  The  tattling  coxcomb  I  What  does  he 
know  about  it?" 

Cojjland, — "'Xext  to  nothing,  I  am  well  satisfied, 
and  therefore  I  shall  have  to  call  a  more  reliable 
and  better  informed  witness.  Come  to  the  book, 
Harry.  I  must  have  the  truth,  the  whole  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  truth  concerning  that  little 
tete-a-tete  last  night." 

Evidently  Carleton  was  not  in  a  humor  to  relish 
his  friend's  bantering  tone.  He  had  suddenly  lapsed 
into  gravity.  "Xo  offence,  Charley,"  he  said,  "but 
I  must  insist  on  dropping  the  subject ;  it  sounds 
so  nnfeeling — our  jesting — considering  the  turn 
things  have  taken.  What  you  have  heard  is  very 
true;  they  are  betrothed.  Dick  Alloway  had  the 
assurance  from  Miss  Littleton's  own  lips -this  morn- 
ing. Why  he  went  away  on  the  vessel  I  cannot 
divine;  but  of  one  thing  I  have  no  manner  of 
doubt — he  is  not  implicated  in  the  kidnapping 
aS-iir." 


^VOODEOURNE.  20[) 

Copland. — "It  is  a  pretty  case,  Harry,  and  my 
professional  acumen  is  greatly  piqued;  but  since 
you  wisli  it,  I  will  forego  tlie  examination  for  the 
present.  Gone,  eh?  taken  French  leave!  What  was 
the  tune  we  were  dancing  to  last  night  ?  *  Mal- 
brook  has  gone  to  the  wars.'  A  thousand  pardons, 
Harry;  what  was  you   going  to   say?" 

Harry. — "Having  dismissed  that  disagreeable  topic, 
tell  me  what  is  the  news  abroad.  I  did  not  have 
a  chance  to  question  you   at  the  party  last  night." 

Copland. — "My  intelligence  is  summed  up  in  one 
vrord — war;  they  mean  to  lick  us  into  terms  if 
they  can.  Such  is  the  pronounced  purpose  of  the 
Ministry,  and  the  body  of  the  people  applaud  it. 
During  my  three  years'  stay  in  London  I  was  a 
close  observer,  and  read  with  care  the  real  exposi- 
tors of  public  sentiment.  The  secret  of  Lord 
Chatham's  popularity  and  influence  lay  in  the  unex- 
ampled success  of  his  war  policy,  conducted  as  it 
was  with  such  wonderful  spirit  and  energy.  The 
results  added  immensely  to  the  British  possessions, 
and  placed  the  nation  on  the  pinnacle  of  power 
and  greatness.  The  land  resounded  with  the  lo 
Triomplie  of  the  Great  Commoner,  the  people's  idol, 
a  very  god, — and  what  was  of  more  importance  to 
us,  the  sincere  friend  of  America,  inflexibly  opposed 
to  every  scheme  tending  to  subject  us  to  unright- 
eous burthens.  The  jubilee  over,  the  day  for  audit- 
ing arrives — the  remorseless  piper  presents  his  bill. 
Lo,  the  budget  foots  up  the  enormous  sum  of 
£U0,000,000— the  whole  of  it  spent  by  Lord  Chat- 
ham in  his  glorious  campaigns.  He  is  naturally 
looked  to    for    suggesting    the    way    to    pay  it;   but 

18* 


210  WOODBOUENE. 

he  IS  no  financier;  sncli  driidgery  is  beneath  the 
notice  of  a  great  statesman;  he  turns  the  business 
over  to  liis  brother-in-Law,  Granville.  That  minister 
tries  the  okl-fashioned  plan.  'New  duties,  imposts 
and  excises  are  the  order  of  the  day.  The  country 
is  in  a  ferment  of  indignation;  the  cities  grow  riot- 
ous, and  Ciderland,  especially,  is  ready  to  raise  the 
standard  of  open  rebellion.  In  despair,  ministers 
resort  to  the  colonies  for  help.  These,  they  say, 
have  been  the  sole  gainers  by  the  war,  have  been 
saved  from  the  tender  mercies  of  tomahawk  and 
scalping-knife  by  British  valor;  they  must  foot  the 
bill.  The  colonies  flare  up,  "  and  their  attitude 
creates  alarm  among  the  merchant  princes  of  Lon- 
don, Liverpool  and  Bristol.  Granville  points  to  the 
war-budget  of  his  predecessor,  and  demands  to  know 
where  he  is  to  get  money  to  meet  the  deficit  in 
the  treasury.  Pitt  retorts  with  a  humorous  sally, 
but  the  *  Gentle  Shepherd '  is  not  so  easily  laughed 
out  of  court.  lie  reiterates  the  signiflcant  question, 
and  sober  business  men  realize  its  grave  importance. 
It  is  plain  to  them  that  every  source  of  legitimate 
revenue  must  be  tapped  or  the  credit  of  the  nation 
will  be  irretrievably  damaged.  Thus  the  question  of 
the  right  to  tax  the  colonies  became  the  one  absorb- 
ing theme  of  parliamentary  debate  and  popular 
agitation.  In  proportion  to  our  earnestness  in  pro- 
testing against  the  outrage,  did  public  opinion  in 
England  manifest  itself  in  favor  of  the  King's  de- 
termination to  make  the  experiment,  and  now  the 
nation  as  a  whole  is,  in  my  judgment,  fully  pre- 
pared to  support  the  most  vigorous  measures  the 
administration  may  devise  for  our  subjugation.     You 


WOODBOURXE.  211 

can't  imagine  how  contemptuously  they  speak  of 
lis.  I  was  mad  enough  to  fight  a  hundred  times 
before  I  left  London,  but  managed  to  keep  my 
temper  from  getting    the    better    of   my    discretion/' 

Harry. — ''What  you  say  corroborates  Mr.  Arthur 
Lee's  opinion  in  a  recent  letter  to  my  father. 
Well,  I,  for  one,  do  not  regret  the  course  events 
have  taken.  With  my  good  old  preceptor,  Dr. 
Witherspoon,  I  believe  the  people  of  America  are 
not  only  ripe  for  independence  but  rotting.  It  is 
too  late  now  for  the  government  to  retrace  its  steps. 
Our  terms  have  risen  since  the  guns  opened  on 
Boston.  We  can  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than 
the  unequivocal  renunciation  of  the  right  to  tax  us 
against  our  consent,  and  guaranteeing  to  us  by 
irrepealable  grants  local  home  government,  involving 
the  retrenchment  of  the  executive  functions  of  vice- 
regents,  and  an  increase  of  legislative  authority  in 
the  provincial  assemblies.  In  a  word,  we  must 
have  all  and  singular  the  privileges,  immunities 
and  franchises  of  English  subjects.  These  they  are 
not  likely  to  give,  and  the  end  is  foreseen.  To 
your   tents,   0   Israel ! " 

Copland. — ''Why,  Harry,  you  are  an  improved 
edition   of  Xat   Bacon." 

Harry  (enthusiastically). — "You  could  not  pay 
me  a  dearer  compliment.  Bacon  fired  the  first  gun 
for  American  liberty;  may  it  be  my  glorious  privi- 
lege to   shoot  the  last  mother's  son   of  its   enemies." 

Copland  (professional  caution  could  not  stand  be- 
fore the  fiery  zeal  of  his  companion). — '*You  are  a 
trump,  Harry,"  he  warmly  replied.  "Still  I  cannot 
h:dp  wishing  the  crisis    had    been    put    off    until   I 


212  WOODBOUEXE. 

had  finished  the  round  of  the  inns  of  courts. 
However,  tliat's  no  great  matter;  this  revohition,  if 
it  succeeds,  will  make  many  sweeping  changes  in 
the  principles  and  practices  of  the  common  law, 
and  I  may  have  to  unlearn  half  I  know  at  present. 
But  who   have   we   here?" 

It  was  another  visitor  come  to  learn  the  exact 
particulars  of  that  astounding  outrage.  Soon  another 
and  another  arrived  in  breathlesss  haste.  The 
exciting  news  had  flown  far  and  wide  over  the 
country;  tlie  untiring  "postman"  was  in  his  ele- 
ment, doing  yeoman  service  and  sending  the  intelli- 
gence with  lightning  speed  in  every  direction. 
Gathering  volume  as  it  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  it  at  last  swelled  into  the  most  extravagant 
dimensions,  past  all  whooping,  and  rumor  after 
rumor  of  the  most  absurd  description  glided  swim- 
mingly along  on  the  top  wave  of  popular  credulity 
to   the   remotest   corner   of  the   colony. 

In  no  while  Carleton  found  himself  to  be  the 
cynosure  of  quite  an  imposing  assembly  of  indig- 
nant young  patriots,  who  were  unanimously  agreed 
that  it  was  high  time  to  put  a  stop  to  such  high- 
handed and  lawless  proceedings.  He  improved  the 
occasion  to  harangue  them  on  the  abominations  of 
tyranny  in  general,  and  the  grievous  oppressions  of 
British  rule  in  particular.  The  fruits  of  his  glow- 
ing phillippic  were  a  round  dozen  able-bodied  vol- 
unteer  recruits   for   the   horse   company. 

It  was  aft^r  candle-light  when  Alloway  returned; 
the  company  were  all  gone,  and  Carleton  was  again 
alone.  His  host  was  whistling  as  he  entered,  a 
signal  which   foreboded    other   strange  developments. 


WOODBOUR^'E.  213 

''  Here  you  are  at  last  I ''  cried  Carleton,  '•  charged 
to  the  muzzle  Avith  inscrutable  wisdom,  to  judge 
from  your  looks.  Come,  out  "with  it;  I  am  heartily 
disgusted  Avitli  this  everlastiug  game  of  blind-man's 
buff." 

*•'  Blind-man's  buff  -with  a  yengeance  I "  replied 
Dick,  dropping  into  a  chair  and  stretching  his 
limbs  with  an  air  of  intense  "weariness.  "Throw 
me  the  slippers  there  in  the  corner.  What  a  re- 
lief to  get  rid  of  these  plaguey  hard  boots ;  now  I 
am  comfortable.  "Well,  Harry,  we  are  at  a  dead 
fault;  the  trail  is  as  cold  as  a  wedge — lost  beyond 
recovery;''  and,  to  give  emphasis  to  the  startling 
announcement,  he  stared  hard  at  his  friend  with  a 
visage  that  was   comically  blank  and  rueful. 

Bewildered  as  he  was,  Carleton  could  not  help 
laughing.  *•'  Lost  I  "  he  repeated ;  ''  where  ?  in  Mr. 
Graeme's  punch-bowl  ?  " 

"In  Chesapeake  bay,"  replied  Dick,  with  unmoved 
countenance;  "'the  pirate  has  captured  your  mighty 
hero,  and  away  goes  your  little  romance.  If  I  was 
not  so  sleepy,   I  would  a  tale   unfold — •" 

Harry. — "Xot  a  wink  of  sleep  shall  you  have 
until  you  tell  me  what  you  know;"  and  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  he  locked  the  door  of  the 
room  and   put   the  key  in   his  pocket. 

Dick. — "And  shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine 
inn,  Hal?" 

Harry. — "'  TVhen  you  have  done  with  your  pro- 
voking tomfoolery,  not  before.  Come,  sir,  the  story, 
the   story!" 

Diclc. — "  Sheath  your  impatience,  Hal.  Will  not  a 
song  do  as   well?     Captain  Kidd,   you  know — 

"  'And  he   sailed  and  he   sailed—*  " 


214  v\''00DB0UR]sri:. 

Harry. — "I  yerily  believe  you  are  tipsy  in  good 
earnest.  Your  conduct  is  outrageous.  Here  I  have 
been  the  best  part  of  the  day — (Dick,  sotto  voce, 
'As  dry  as  a  powder-horn,') — entertaining  a  score 
or  more  of  your  friends  and  neighbors  while  you 
have  been — " 

Dick. — "  In  better  company.  "Well,  insatiable  news- 
monger, sit  down  and  hearken  to  my  tale,  and 
much  may  it  enlighten  you." 

But  highly  as  we  respect  Mr.  Eichard  Alloway's 
powers  of  narration,  we  prefer  to  tell  the  story  in 
our  own  way,   and  in   our  ov/n  good  time. 


CHAPTEE   XIX. 


His   own. 


i,^y?k,t  X  tlie  Christian  calendar,  the  Sabbath  is 
^  the  first  day  of  the  week.  Of  old,  it 
was  the  seventh  and  last  day  which  the 
Almighty  Maker  hallowed  and  blessed  for 
By  the  change  it  became  doubly  sancti- 
fied, celebrating  the  victory  over  death  and  the 
grave,  and  forever  typical  of  the  rest  which  is  pre- 
pared for  the   saints   in   heaven. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  very  loose  notions  at 
this  time  prevailed  in  Virginia  as  to  the  due  ob- 
servance of  the  Lord's  day,  but  with  the  exception 
of  that  pliase  of  proiitnity  more  or  less  common 
to  every  age  and  country  since  the  Christian  era 
began,  the  people  were  duly  regardful  of  every- 
thing that  pertained  to  the  sanctity  of  religious 
institutions. 

It  was  Sunday,  the  last  day  of  Carleton's  proposed 
sojourn  at  "W'oodbourne,  and,  judging  from  the  signs 
of  the  weather,  it  was  the  last,  too,  of  that  delightful 
interlude  of  the  seasons  which,  in  this  latitude,  goes 
by  the  name  of  the  Indian  Summer.  The  wind 
was  blowing  great  guns  from  the  northwest;   cloudy 

(215) 


21G  WOODBOURXE. 

racks  went  skurrying  across  the  welkin's  foce, 
darkening  the  sun  and  shooting  cold  lances  through 
shivering  lights  and  livers,  and  the  leaves  of  the 
forest  were  falling  thick  and  fast  under  the  savage 
flail  of  the  tempest.  Harry  was  sitting  at  the  win- 
dow watching  the  limbs  of  the  great  oak  on  the 
lawn,   as  they  swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  gale. 

"I  am  thinking  there  will  be  a  slim  attendance 
at  church  this  blustering  morning,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  Dick,  who  had  just  come  in  and  was 
toasting  his  shins  by  the  fire. 

"Xever  you  fear  for  that,"  replied  his  friend. 
*' Between  curiosity  to  hear  the  ^new-light'  preacher, 
and  the  desire  to  talk  over  yesterday's  doings,  they 
won't  mind  the  weather  if  the  wind  does  blow. 
Ugh!  but  it's  a  nipper  nevertheless,  right  from  the 
Xorth  Pole." 

Harrij. — "It  will  be  as  great  a  treat  to  me  as 
to  the  rest  of  the  benighted  heathen  hereabouts.  I 
haven't  heard  a  good  rousing  sermon  since  I  left 
Xassau  Hall.  Mr.  "Waddell  is  said  to  be  a  man  of 
extraordinary  parts;  he'll  be  sure  to  stir  things  up 
from  the  bottom.  You  will  catch  it,  you  miserable 
sinner." 

'Dic'k.—''Fov   what,   more   than   the   rest  of  you?" 

Harry. — "Why,  for  your  two  notoriously  beset- 
ting  sins — horse-racing   and   fox-hunting." 

Dich—''li  that's  all,  let  it  blow  till  it  crack.  I 
do  certainly  love  a  line  horse,  and  can  boast  of 
tlie  fastest  to  be  found  in  the  four  counties.  As 
for  fox-hunting,  I  freely  confess  that  I  am  some- 
what addicted  to  the  good  old  gentlemanly  pastime 
which    has     come    down    to    us    from    remotest    an- 


WOODBOUR^-E.  217 

tiqiiity,  and  which,  by  the  bye,  was  especially  hon- 
ored by  your  mighty  hero,  Harry  the  Fifth  of 
England/' 

Harry. — ^^I  never  heard  before  that  he  was  so 
passionately  fond  of  the  chase.  "Where  did  you  get 
your  information?" 

Diclc. — "Xot  from  Shakespeare!  Still  it  is  a  his- 
torical fact.  Why,  did  you  never  read  the  story 
of  his  coming  one  day  to  see  his  darling  Kate  in 
Paris  with  a  fox-tail  stuck  in  his  helmet  in  place 
of  a  plume  ?  What  did  that  signify,  I  should  like 
to  know?" 

Harry. — "Eightly  interpreted,  it  meant  that  he 
had  won  the  brush — that  is  to  say,  the  wife  and 
her  rich  dowry  of  lands,  chattels  and  heredita- 
ments." 

Biclx:. — "Anyhow,  it  was  a  royal  recognition  of 
the  glorious  sport  which  has  always  been  the  pride 
and  delight  of  free-born  Britons.  The  preachers 
had  as  well  be  done  canting  about  the  cruelty 
of  it.  "What  were  birds  and  beasts  of  prey — dogs 
and  men  included — made  for  but  to  exterminate 
pestiferous  vermin  and  keep  the  world  from  being 
overrun  by  vegetarians  and  herbivorists  ?  It  is 
ridiculous,  past  endurance  to  hear  one  of  these 
sleek  parsons,  whose  paunch  is  with  ^good,  fat 
capon  lined,'  and  whose  life  is  one  happy  dream 
of  green  goose  and  chicken-pie,  railing  at  the  bar- 
barous custom  of  destroying  the  poor  innocent 
foxes." 

Harry  (laughing). — "You  are  perfectly  incorrigi- 
ble, Dick.  You  wouldn't  dare  to  make  that  speech 
in  Mr.  Graeme's  hearing." 

19 


21S  WOODBOUEXE. 

Dick — ^''AYhy  not?  The  old  gentleman  is  as  keen 
a  sportsman  as  any  of  us.  You  would  be  charmed 
to  hear  him  describe  his  famous  badger-hunts  when 
he  was  a  pranksome  lad  in  Scotland.  But  it's 
time  we  were  getting  ready   for   church.'' 

In  the  midst  of  what  was  once  a  magnificent  grove 
of  oaks  and  hickories,  cedars  and  poplars,  hard  by 
a  spring  of  the  purest  and  coolest  water  that  ever 
refreshed  the  thirst  of  man  and  beast,  rises  a  ven- 
erable pile  dedicated  long  years  ago  by  Christian 
prayers  to  the  worship  of  the  living  God.  The 
date  is  on  the  wall.  It  was  built  A.  D.  1T06,  of 
bricks,  they  say,  brought  all  the  way  from  Eng- 
land, hard  enough  when  they  came  out  of  their 
native  kiln,  but  so  much  the  harder  for  their  sea- 
change  as  to  defy  the  ravages  of  old  Edax  Tem- 
pus.  It  is  in  nnich  better  preservation  than  many 
similar  edifices  in  Virginia  of  much  later  date  of 
erection,  and  has  undergone  occasional  repairs  and 
alterations  from  time  to  time.  Some  of  these  better- 
ments had  better  been  left  off,  in  our  opinion.  A 
new  roof  was  indispensably  necessary;  but,  alas, 
the  sacreligious  genius  of  modern  improvement  has 
gone  inside  and  ransacked  and  disfigured  at  such 
a  tasteful  rate  that  the  original  architect  would 
not  be  able  to  recognize  his  goodly  handiwork. 
Especially  do  we  miss  from  its  place  the  quaint 
old-fashioned  pulpit,  with  its  overhanging  sounding- 
board,  which,  in  the  wantonness  of  juvenile  fancy, 
we  expected  to  see  come  down  like  a  well-fitting 
lid  and  imprison  the  Eev.  Thumb  text  in  a  living 
tomb.  Mayhap  the  dread  of  such  a  catastrophe  led 
to  its    removal.     Outside   everything    speaks    of  ruin 


"\VOODBOURis"E.  219 

and  decay.     Tlie   wall,    wlncli    enclosed    a    space  of 
two    acres,     in    the    centre     of    which     stands     the 
church,    has    crumbled    to     the     earth    in    a    dozen 
places;     the    yestry-room    is     a    dismantled    wreck, 
fragments   of  broken  tombstones   are   strewn  around, 
and  the  frequent  yawning    hollows    Avithin   the  pale 
remind    the    passenger    how    soon    he    may    be    the 
prey    of    dumb    forgetfulness.     The    old    church   lias 
seen  strange   sights    in    its    day,   and    experienced   a 
variety    of    uses     little     dreamed    of    hj    its    pious 
founders.     In   the  war  of  1812,   as   niciuy   living  wit- 
nesses  can   testify,  it  furnished   commodious  quarters 
for  a    squad    of    valorous    militiamen,   charged   Avith 
the    duty    of     watching    the    enemy's    war    vessels, 
which   were   constantly   running    in   and   out    of    the 
river   and  sending   tlieir  barges   ashore  to   set  fire  to 
houses   and   hay-stacks.     They    performed    their   part 
like   veterans,   if   we    are    to    believe    the    stories    of 
their  prowess    related    by    a    surviving  member;    on 
one    occasion    actually    marching    ten     miles     in    a 
single  night,   and  reaching  their   destination  in  time 
to   cook  their   breakfast    by    the    smoldering   embers 
of  a  once   proud   mansion,   and   to  lire    a    volley — of 
oaths— at    the    hindmost  sloop-of-war  now  hull-down 
on   the  horizon.     Then  it  became   by   day  a  school- 
house,   where  young  ideas  were  trained  to  such  ex- 
pertness   in  throwing  stones  as  not  to  leave  a  whole 
pane   of    glass    in     the    large     mullioned    windows; 
and  at  night  it  served   as   a  grateful  couching-place 
for  beasts  of  the  field,  as  well  as   a   favorite  roosting- 
place   for    birds    of    evil    omen.     At    another    time, 
within  our  memory,  it  was  the  debatable  border  land 
of  two  fiercely  contending  religious   clans,  Avho  well 


220  WOODBOUEXE. 

nigh  came  from  words  to  blows  in  disputing  their 
mutual  claims  to  rightful  possession.  And,  lastly, 
in  the  height  of  the  late  terrific  contest  between 
the  States  it  was  again  converted  into  a  barracks 
for  the  accommodation  of  a  clioice  band  of  self- 
sacrificing  heroes  of  the  last  ditch,  who  generously 
forewent  their  share  of  the  splendid  laurels  which 
bloom  on  the  perilous  ridges  of  battle  and  beside 
the  paths  of  crimson  glory,  and  were  humbly  con- 
tent with  the  meaner  sort  that  grew  iu  the  neigh- 
boring morass,  iu  which  they  found  at  once  the 
modest  recompense  of  a  soldier's  reward  and  a 
secure  hiding-place  from  the  insolent  foe.  Away 
with  mawkish  whimpering  and  sentimental  cant! 
What  is  yonder  ancient  pile  of  brick  and  mortar 
but  the  rude  work  of  profane  human  hands,  and  as 
for  those  mournful  relics  of  the  forgotten  dead, 
why,  if  every  grave  were  covered  with  a  stone  the 
surface  of  the  earth  would  in  no  while  become 
one  vast  tessellated  pavement  of  lying  epitaphs.  The 
moral  is  plainly  written:  You  must  do  something 
more  than  "building  churches,"  if  you  would  not 
have  your  name  buried  in  the  tomb  of  oblivion  by 
the  next  unvenerating  generation. 

Mr.  Richard  Alloway  prognosticated  rightly;  there 
was  a  large  concourse  of  people  of  both  sexes  and 
all  sizes,  and  of  difierent  complexions  of  color  and 
creed,  to  hear  the  word  expounded  by  that  inter- 
loping schismatic,  as  he  was  obstinately  denounced 
by  the  most  bigoted  churchmen.  The  i]l-natured 
sneers  at  the  Presbyterian  preacher's  expense  only 
the  more  inflamed  the  popular  heart,  which  was 
now   thoroughly  imbued  with  the   sentiment    of   re- 


WOODBOURXE.  221 

ligioiis  toleration.  The  services  bad  not  begun 
wben  our  friends*  arrived;  it  yet  Licked  some  min- 
utes of  the  appointed  bour,  and  the  minister  bad 
not  made  bis  appearance.  The  greater  part  of  tbe 
male  portion  of  tbe  congregation,  sheltered  from 
the  blast  under  tbe  lee  of  tbe  church,  were  ex- 
changing neighborly  greetings  and  descanting  upon 
current  news,  prominently  the  exciting  occurrences 
of  the  previous  day.  Presently  there  is  a  -cautionary 
whisper;  tbe  conversation  ceases,  and  all  e3'es  are 
turned  upon  tbe  tall,  spare,  clerical-looking  gentle- 
man who,  conducted  by  Lucy  Graeme,  walks  quickly 
across  tbe  yard  to  tbe  side  entrance  of  tbe  church, 
receiving,  as  be  passed,  the  respectful  salutations 
of  tbe  assembly,  which  he  acknowledged  with  gi-ace- 
ful,  dignified  courtesy.  A  murnmr  of  approbation 
betokened  the  favorable  impression  bis  looks  and 
carriage  bad  produced,  as  follovring  his  example, 
the  crowd  poured  into  tbe  church  until  it  was 
filled  to  its  utmost  capacity.  Xever  before  or  since 
was  there  such  another  gathering  within  those 
sacred  walls.  Our  description  is  taken  from  a  letter 
in  the  family  archives,  which  says  that  the  audi- 
ence were  '-'literally  jammed,  crammed  and  packed 
like  herrings  in  a  barrel," — tbe  writer,  a  bouncing 
damsel  of  fifteen,  having  sat  through  the  entire 
services  on  her  father's  knee.  Yet,  despite  tbe  dis- 
comfort, the  most  perfect  quiet  and  decorum  reigned, 
and  from  beginning  to  end  the  preacher  bad  their 
undivided   attention. 

Mr.  AYaddelTs  sermon  vras  appropriate  to  tbe 
existing  state  of  public  affairs;  bis  text  being  the 
tenth  verse  of    the  seventh  Psalm    of    David.     The 

19* 


222  TTOODBOtJEXE. 

one  great  leading  proposition  "was  presented  in  a 
compact,  logical  arrangement  of  convincing  argu- 
ments, and  enforced  by  the  breathed  spell  of  genuine, 
unaffected  eloquence.  The  people  of  America  had 
invoked  the  help  of  the  God  of  battles  as  their 
only  strength  and  rock  of  defence.  On  one  condi- 
tion only  could  they  expect  to  obtain  the  deliver- 
ance for  ^vhich  they  prayed  from  Him  ^vho  "judgetli 
the  righteous  and  is  angry  with  the  wicked  every 
day."  The  discourse,  so  unlike  in  matter,  style 
and  mode  of  delivery  to  any  vhich  had  ever  before 
emanated  from  that  pulpit,  produced  a  profound 
and  lasting  impression  on  the  vast  congregation, 
and  good  Mr.  John  Graeme,  overjoyed  to  see  how 
much  his  neighbors  were  affected  by  the  "halesame 
screed,"  could  not  have  been  more  happy  had  the 
sweet  bells  of  Saint  Mungo  been  chiming  in  his 
ears.  It  was  matter  of  becoming  pride  and  grat- 
ulation  to  his  dying  day,  that  memorable  visitation 
of  grace,  as  he  was  wont  to  call  it.  The  sermon 
was  such  as  might  have  been  expected  from  the 
wonderful  preacher  then  in  the  vigorous  prime  of 
manhood,  who,  long  years  afterwards,  grown  feeble 
with  age,  palsied,  sightless,  yet  all,  more  inwardly 
illumined  with  celestial  light,  extorted  a  glowing 
tribute  from  one  who  knew  himself  how  to  touch 
with  a  master's  hand  the  chords  of  human  thought, 
passion  and  feeling.  The  services  were  concluded 
by  a  fervent  appeal  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts  that  He 
would  sustain  and  cheer  the  hearts  and  nerve  the 
arms  of  the  people  in  the  struggle  which  was  before 
them,  and  speedily  guide  them  by  the  path  of 
victory    to    peace    and    freedom.     The    people    went 


wooDBouEXE.  2:^23 

fiway  pondering  deeply  on  -what  they  had  heard, 
and  even  'Squire  Littleton  was  constrained  to  ac- 
knoTvledge  that  the  "new-light''  doctrines  were  in 
the  main  sound  and  scriptural,  albeit  there  was  no 
good  word  spoken  in  behalf  of  his  persecuted  saints, 
the  blessed   Stuarts. 

It  was  observed  that  Mary  Littleton  did  not  come 
to  church.  Lucy  explained  her  absence  in  a  whis- 
l^QV  to  Dick  Alloway;  she  had  remained  at  Bonhill 
to  bear  Mrs.  Graeme  company.  As  the  congrega- 
tion were  dispersing  Mr.  Graeme  drew  his  young 
neighbor  one  side,  and  imparted  to  him  a  piece  of 
news  which  astonished  him  to  an  extraordinary  de- 
gree. He  gave  one  prolonged  whistle,  and  then 
suddenly  remembering  where  he  was  as  he  met 
Lucy's  surprised  look,  he  blushed  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair,  clumsily  fastened  the  carriage  door  on  the 
skirt  of  the  old  gentleman's  coat,  and  went  to  seek 
his   horse   in   utter  bewilderment  and   confusion. 

"Wonders  will  never  cease,  Harry,"  he  exclaimed 
when  they  were  gotten  clear  of  the  crowd;  "Mike 
Burke  has  disappeared;  gone  in  the  night,  the  Lord 
knows   where." 

"The  mischief  I"  replied  Harry,  with  an  incred- 
ulous  stare.     "  How   did   you   learn   that  ?  " 

"From  Mr.  Graeme,  who  had  it  directly  from 
the  sailor's  wife,''  said  Dick.  "He  stole  away  in 
his  boat  under  the  cover  of  darkness  without  a 
word  of  Avarning,  and  left  no  clew  to  his  inten- 
tions save  a  piece  of  plank  stuck  endwise  in  the 
sand,  on  which  he  had  sketched  with  charcoal  the 
picture  of  a  ship  under  full  sail  with  a  small  boat 
following   in   her   wake." 


224  WOODBOUENE. 

"Which  means  phiin  enough  that  Mike  has  de- 
serted to  the  enemy,"  said  Harry.  "  He'll  haye  a 
lively  time  cruising  after  the  Katrine  in  this 
weather.  "Well,  it  can't  he  helped,  and  really  I 
don't  see  why  yon  should  he  so  much  troubled 
about  it  in  one  way  or  the  other.  Your  jolly  old 
sea-dog  has  as  much  right  as  anybody  else  to  choose 
sides  in  the  fight;  and  having  once  served  with 
credit  in  his  Majesty's  navy,  he  has  only  gone  hack 
to  his  first  love.  That's  my  solution  of  the  matter, 
leaving  out  of  view  the  probability  of  domestic 
provocations  too  giievous  to  be  borne." 

''  He  was  well  posted  about  the  vessel's  move- 
ments," Dick  went  on  to  say.  "She  did  not  put 
directly  to  sea  as  Ave  supposed,  but  will  run  into 
the  Eappahannock  to  complete  her  cargo,  touching 
at  Hobb's  Hole  and  Merry  Point;  Mr.  Osborn,  on 
winding  up  his  afiairs  here,  having  exchanged  his 
negroes  with  Col.  James  Gordon,  of  Lancaster,  for 
tobacco.  The  rascal  could  easily  intercept  her  with 
a  fair  wind.  Conrad  and  Archie  out  of  their 
clutches,  I  wish  they  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ocean." 

Harry  made  no  reply  to  this  wrathful  explosion; 
it  was  plain  that  Dick  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling. 
He  Avas  both  deeply  mortified  and  sorely  distressed. 
Mike's  shameful  flight  Avas  the  unkindest  cut  of 
all ;   it  Avas  the   culmination  of  black  ingratitude. 


EXD    OF    PART    I. 


I=»-A^IST     II 


CHAPTER. 
I, 

III, 

IV, 
V, 
VI, 

vir, 

VIII, 
IX, 

XI, 
XII, 


OOIsrTElsrTS 


PAGE. 

1 

24 

35 
45 
54 
G3 
74 
SG 
102 
112 
119 
12S 


WOODBOURKE. 


np.i^^'X'   II. 


CIIAPTErv   I. 


HE  proi'ise  tl:iy  or  year  h  not  material  to 
remember,  but  it  was  within  lialf  a  cen- 
tury after  the  landing  of  Governor  Cal- 
vert's   select    company    of    immigrants   at 

St.   Mary  s,   that   the    Manor    House    of    D rose 

majestic  from  its  builder's  hand  amid  the  bound- 
less expanse  of  dim  primeval  woods,  whose  sounding 
aisles  for  the  first  time  rung  to  the  music  of  the 
pioneer's  axe.  A  bright  pearl  of  civilization  it  was 
set  in  the  dusky  brow  of  rugged  barbarism.  Soon 
other  sparkling  gems  appeared,  clustering  in  daz- 
zling array  around  that  jewel  of  price,  until  the 
lovely  province  was  decorated  with  a  diadem  of 
rarest  beauty,  and  stood  forth  to  the  admiring  gaze 
of  the  world  a  very  queen  of  unrivalled  hospitality. 
Many  a  changeful  year  has  fled,  and  the  stately 
mansion   still   rears   its  head  proudly  aloft— a  vener- 


2  WOODBOURXE. 

able  relic  of  a  bygone  age,  rich  in  stori  d  memo- 
ries, and  eloquent  of  the  prophetic  vrarnings  of  the 
philosophic  sage  whose  wisdom  was  nurtured  in  the 
bosom  of  its  halcyon  repose.  Long  may  it  continue 
to  resist  the   tooth   of  time   and  razure   of   oblivion. 

On  the  eiening  of  the  identical  day  our  story 
begins,  tvro  gentlemen  were  walking  slowly  backvrards 
and  forwards  under  the  leafless  elm  trees  on  the  great 
lawn  at  D— —  Manor.  The  one  who  is  now  speak- 
ing we  would  ordinarily  put  down  without  hesita- 
tion to  be  verging  close  on  the  meridian  of  life, 
did  we  not  happen  to  know  that  his  years  were 
graciously  prolonged  a  full  score  beyond  the  allotted 
span  of  mortality.  In  stature  he  is  tall,  slim  and 
erect;  his  manner  is  remarkably  grave  and  thought- 
ful, yet  free  and  unembarrassed;  and  his  delicate 
and  refined  countenance  wears  a  habitual  compression, 
which  is  indicative  of  acute  sensibility,  nervous 
energy  and  inflexible  decision.  He  is  plamly  attired 
in  homespun  habiliments,  and  altogether  his  dress 
betrays  the  inimitable  simplex  munditiis  of  unmis- 
takable gentility,  being  characterized  by  the  scrupu- 
lous neatness  and  faultless  taste  v.diich,  whatever 
the  style  or  quality  of  the  apparel,  proclaims  the 
wearer  to  be  a  man  of  education  and  refinement. 
His  utterance  is  rapid  and  earnest,  though  he 
never  once  gesticulates  with  his  hands,  which  are 
crossed  behind  his  back,  and  keeps  his  eyes  steadily 
upon  the  ground,  except  when  he  gives  an  occa- 
sional glance  at  his  companion  for  approval  of  some 
remark   of  unusual   interest. 

Although  the  other  person  is  not  arrayed  in  tlie 
complete   vestments   of  any   particular  clerical   order. 


TTOODBOURXE.  3 

his  carriage  as  well  as  his  garb  sufficiently  denotes 
his  priestly  calling.  His  strong,  square  anxl  mas- 
sive frame,  somev.hat  disfigured  by  an  awkward 
stoop  of  the  shoulders,  is  surmounted  by  a  head 
such  as  Eaphael  or  Leonardo  di  \  inci  would  hare 
delighted  to  transfer  to  canva-^s ;  age  had  touched 
him  with  a  kind  and  gentle  hand;  his  lofty  and 
expansive  brow  was  smooth  and  unwrinkled,  and 
there  was  about  him  a  pervading  atmosj)here  of 
mild  dignity  and  cheerful  benevolence.  Him  we 
introduce  as  a  personage  whose  eminent  worth  it 
is  our  grateful  privilege  to  celebrate — the  pious 
and  learned  Abbe  Julian  Soule,  and  the  younger 
gentleman  to  whom  he  is  listening  v/ith  sucli  def- 
erential and  pleased  attention,  is,  as  the  intelligent 
reader  has  rightly  surmised,  the  munificent  and 
courtly  ;^oprietor  of  that  vast  patrimonial  demesne — 
the  illustrious  Charles  Carroll  of  Carrollton.  As 
they  are  engaged  in  discussing  a  subject  in  which 
not  only  that  generation  but  nati  natorum  et  qui 
nasccntur  ab  ////.*?  are  vitally  interested,  we  take 
the  liberty  of  recording  their  conversation  for  the 
benefit  of  whom   it  may  concern. 

"I  have  informed  your  reverence,''  said  Mr.  Car- 
roll, '-'of  the  purport  of  Mr.  Carleton's  latest  com- 
munication. It  fully  confirms  the  views  you  have 
expressed  as  the  deliberate  result  of  your  own  brief 
but  penetrating  observation.  You  have  discovered 
the  exact  posture  of  affairs.  Virginia  is  now  fully 
prepared  to  move  in  the  matter,  and  the  others, 
rest  assured,  will  not  hesitate  to  follow  her  lead. 
My  friend  Graves  will  soon  see  it  was  in  no  spirit 
of  bravado   that   I   wrote   him   that  the   bayonet  was 


4  WOOUBOUEXE. 

the  only  solution  of  the  difficulties  between  Great 
Britain  and  her  colonies,  and  that  in  appealing  to 
the  dread  arbiter,  we  were  resolved,  at  whatever 
cost  of  blood  and  treasure,  to  be  a  free  and  inde- 
pendent people.  And  now  conies  the  momentous 
question,  when  our  independence  is  assured,  as  it 
undoubtedly  vv^ill  be,  Avhat  shall  we  do  to  preserve 
and  perpetuate  its  blessings?  Already  I  feel  the 
strong  undertow  of  popular  feeling  and  sentiment 
which  is  bearing  ns  irresistibly  away  from  the 
ancient  landmarks,  forms  and  precedents,  which  have 
heretofore  been  in  our  eyes  the  guides  and  tests  of 
political  orthodoxy.  We  shall  soon  be  adrift  on 
the  tempestuous  sea  of  experiment,  and  who  will 
be  our  pilot  in  so  great  extremity  of  peril?  I 
have  pondered  the  subject  long  and  anxiously,  and 
have  carefully  compared  opinions  with  the  most 
prominent  and  influential  citizens  of  other  States. 
There  is  little  variance  among  them  concerning  the 
proposed  new  system  of  government;  but  a  motley 
multitude  of  discrepancies  and  incongruities  appear 
when  they  come  to  discuss  essential  matters  of 
detaih  Some  honest  folks  are  possessed  with  such 
extreme  horrcr  of  tyranny  that  if  they  had  their 
way  they  would  reduce  government  to  the  merest 
shadow  of  authority,  Avliile  others  are  so  infatuated 
with  liberty  and  equality  that  they  seem  recklessly 
disposed  to  carry  the  majority  rule  to  the  excess 
of  folly  and  madness.  In  my  judgment,  property 
should  be,  under  all  circumstances  and  at  all  times, 
the  main  care  of  the  law-giver.  Life  and  liberty 
are  in  little  danger  of  molestation  in  a  community 
where   every   man   is   free   to  pursue  his  chosen  path 


WOODBOURKE.  5 

to  happiness,  and  Y>-here  all  are  alike  amenable  to 
punitive  justice.  To  protect  the  garners  of  industry 
and  the  acquisitions  of  labor  and  skill,  and  to 
guard  the  sacred  domain  of  virtue  and  intelligence 
from  the  rapacity  and  profimation  of  the  many- 
headed  monster,  as  well  as  to  prevent  the  concen- 
tration of  power  in  privileged  hands,  and  the  for- 
mation of  those  insidious  combinations  of  cupidity 
and  craft  by  which  the  few  are  aggrandized  at  the 
expense  of  the  many,  should  be  the  prime  end  and 
aim  of  every  well-ordered  society.  Theories  of  free 
government  are  as  plenty  as  blackberries,  but  im- 
posing declarations  of  natural  rights,  formularies  of 
abstract  principles,  concatenations  of  self-e^-ident 
propositions,  sage  aphorisms  and  pithy  maxims  culled 
from  Plato  and  Aristotle,  from  Sydney  and  Locke, 
only  serve  for  the  themes  of  ephemeral  essays  and 
sophomoric  declamation,  fit  to  exercise  the  various 
talents  of  ingenuous  youth  at  college.  It  is  the 
highest  .visdom  to  know  how  to  adjust  the  nice 
balance  of  constitutional  government,  and  to  affix 
the  boundaries  of  each  order  and  degree  in  the 
social  scale,  and  to  ascertain  what  amount  of  indi- 
vidual right  is  compatible  with  the  sacredness  of 
property  and  the  security  of  the  commonwealth. 
Equality  before  the  law,  we  have  been  told  since 
Solon's  time,  is  the  corner-stone  of  the  structure  of 
popular  free  government;  certainly  it  is  the  golden 
rule  of  even-handed  justice.  But  from  the  exam- 
ples we  have  already  had  of  its  practical  enforce- 
ment, we  may  well  exclaim,  SiJiil  est  tarn  inequale 
quam  equalitas  ipsa!  Who  shall  ordain  the  law? 
Who  give  it  the  awful  sanction  of  omnipotent 
1* 


6  WOODIiOURyE. 

authority?  "Who  shall  be  responsible  for  its  impar- 
tial execution?  The  State — the  body  civil  and  pol- 
itic, the  social  organism,  of  whom  shall  it  be  com- 
posed? Of  -what  materials  shall  the  fabric  of  reg- 
ulated republican  liberty  be  built,  and  on  what 
foundations  shall  it  rest  in  order  that  it  may  not 
only  appear  fair  and  comely  iu  all  its  proportions, 
but  be  strong  and  durable,  capable  of  resisting  the 
rudest  shocks  of  domestic  yiolence  and  foreign 
aggression?  Are  we  destined  to  behold  the  soul- 
informed  body  and  express  image  of  the  greatest 
of  temporal  blessings,  or  is  tlie  darling  object  of 
our  desires,  after  all,  but  the  philosopher's  stone, 
and  we  a  miserable  set  of  deluded  alchemists? 
These  questions  are  not  the  idle  babblings  of 
unprofitable  speculation;  they  furnish  food  for  anx- 
ious rumination  to  the  wisest  and  best  men  in  our 
land.  On  the  solution  of  the  problem,  they  sug- 
gest hang  the  vast  concerns  of  a  nation's  eter- 
nal weal  or  woe.  With  the  light  of  experience  to 
guide  us,  we  may  have  no  difficulty  in  finding 
the  pathway  to  national  freedom  and  glory;  the 
trouble  will  be  how  to  keep  it,  and  this  is  the 
point  on  which  the  history  of  the  human  race  does 
not  throw  the  light  of  encouraging  hope.  After 
all,  the  French  philosopher  may  be  in  the  right; 
democracy  may  do  well  enough  for  U7i  2^^^^P^^  ^^^ 
dieuxj  it  is  too  perfect  for  men.  Pardon  my  tire- 
some efi'usion,  but  I  am  speaking  out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  my  heart,  which  is  as  full  of  the  subject 
as  an  ^^g  is  of  meat." 

"And  I,"  replied  Father  Soule,  ''have  been  weigh- 
ing seriously  every  word    you    have    spoken.     It   is, 


WOODBOUr.XE.  7 

indeed,  as  yon  say,  my  £on,  a  mighty  theme,  preg- 
nant with  momentous  consequences  to  the  whole 
Imman  race.  In  tliis  movement,  the  great  problem 
which  has  exercised  the  talents  and  prompted  the 
prayers  of  good  men  in  every  age,  is  destined  to 
find  a  solution.  My  faith  in  the  ultimate  success 
of  your  experiment  is  unbounded.  The  Jehovah 
Himself  wiil  be  your  guide  and  shield  in  the  dark 
night  on  the  stoi'my  main;  He,  in  His  own  good 
time,  will  conduct  you  safely  to  the  haven  of  peace 
and  joy.  My  whole  life  has  been  devoted  to  watch- 
ing the  tide  of  political  events  in  the  Old  "World. 
I  have  seen  ami  felt  with  poignant  sorrow  the 
incurable  wrongs,  the  unmixed  evils,  the  appalling 
calamities  of  despotic  misrule.  During  the  whole 
of  the  last  adulterous  reign,  the  throne  of  France  was 
the  seat  of  scorning  and  blasphemy.  Atheism  and 
infidelity  usurped  every  place  of  power,  and  poisoned 
and  polluted  every  well-spring  of  thought.  The 
people  were  taught  to  regard  the  religion  of  Christ 
as  a  sacerdotal  imposture,  to  revile  its  ministers, 
and  to  scoff  at  the  mention  of  death  and  the 
judgment.  Life  was  a  merry-go-round  of  passion 
and  lust;  eternity  un  grand  'pexd-etre.  The  conta- 
gion spread  from  palace  and  court  to  hamlet  and 
hovel.  The  entire  nation  was  a  feculent  mass  of 
moral  putrefaction.  AVar  and  famine  had  done  their 
work  of  desolation  and  impoverishment,  and  now  pes- 
tilence is  there — the  terrible  spotted  leprosy  which 
betokens  speedy  dissolution.  But  that  wretched 
kingdom  is  not  alone  in  its  sufferings.  For  centu- 
ries all  Europe  has  been  the  theatre  of  cruel  and 
devas.tating  wars  between    despots.     The    deep-rooted 


8  WOODBOrRXE. 

disease  of  society  there  can  never  be  cured  until  the 
seeds  are  extirpated  by  the  sharp  knife  and  burning 
cautery  of  revolution — frightful  alternative!  The 
struggle  cannot  be  much  longer  delayed.  The  em- 
battled hosts  of  legitimacy  and  popular  rights  con- 
front each  other  in  fierce  array,  awaiting  the  signal 
of  deadly  combat.  Your  contest  is  only  the  begin- 
ning of  the  end.  But  it  is  natural  you  should 
confine  your  thoughts  to  the  stirring  scenes  -vyhich 
immediately  surround  you,  and  to  the  stern  duties 
which  the  crisis  imposes  upon  you  and  your  com- 
patriots. It  is  for  sagacious  and  temperate  states- 
men like  yourself  to  define  with  accuracy  the  plan 
of  the  grand  structure  of  representative  government; 
for  me,  1  devoutly  pray  that  my  days  .may  be 
spared  to  behold  the  coveted  boon  of  liberty  wrested 
from  the  grasp  of  the  spoiler,  and  all  Christendom 
hailiug  the  glorious  achievement  with  acclamations 
of  delight." 

TJie  good  priest  spoke  in  his  native  tongue,  with 
a  voice  which  Massillon  might  have  envied — at 
once  full,  clear  and  mellifluous.  Seeing  his  com- 
paniou  to  be  listening  with  evident  satisfaction,  he 
resumed  his   discourse. 

''There  is  always  danger  of  the  intemperate  zeal 
for  popular  rights  being  carried  to  extravagant 
lengths,  and  every  eff'ort  should  be  made  in  your 
case  to  keep  the  wikl  flood  confined  in  proper 
bounds.  You  should  never  for  an  instant  lose  sight 
of  the  great  fundamental  precept  on  the  observance 
of  which  hangs  the  fate  of  all  human  institutions. 
The  wisest  of  the  Pagan  philosophers  taught,  as 
the  first    truth    of    his    moral    system,   that    to    act 


WOODBOUllXE.  9 

justly  and  well  was  to  act  according  to  the  will  of 
God  in  public  and  private  matters.  Indeed,  it  may 
be  said  that  however  erroneous,  extravagant  or 
absurd  its  religious  creed  may  apj^ear  to  be,  tlie 
political  system  of  every  great  nation  of  the  ancient 
world  had  its  sanction  in  the  recognition  of  mari's 
accountability  to  an  overruling  divine  authority. 
Piety  and  fear,  religion  to  the  gods,  was  the  cor- 
ner-stone of  all  legislation,  and  public  infamy  and 
execration  was  the  doom  of  him  who  derided  or 
scoffed  at  the  national  belief.  Cicero  merely  em- 
bodied a  common  universal  sentiment  when  he 
made  tlie  origin  of  law  and  source  of  obligation 
to  be  the  consummate  reason  and  will  of  the 
Supreme  Being — Quamolrem  lex  vera  at  quo  princeps, 
ratio  est  recti  summi  Jovis.  The  American  people 
are  an  integral  part  of  Christendom,  professing  to 
yield  homage  and  obedience  to  the  only  true  faith, 
by  whose  primal  ordinances  their  conduct  is  regu- 
lated in  all  the  affairs  of  life.  Thus  the  living 
stream  of  virtue  is  fed  from  the  fountain  of  revealed 
truth.  Christianity  is  the  great  conservative  prin- 
ciple of  popular  government,  and  as  long  as  it  pre- 
vails with  power  over  the  hearts  and  consciences 
of  men,  the]*e  can  be  no  wild  disorder,  nor  inso- 
lent anarchy,  nor  baleful  spirit  of  revenge  and 
desti'uction.  A  community  which  has  been  brought 
under  its  pervading  influence,  which  obeys  its 
teachings  and  accepts  its  guidance,  can  be  safely 
trusted  with  the  momentous  concerns  of  rational 
existence— is  in  a  condition  for  self-government  in 
the  proper  acceptation  of  the  term.  Let  it  be 
remembered   that  absolute    sovereignty    is    the    attri- 


10  WOODBOrRXE. 

bute  of  God  alone.  To  rule  jure  cliuuio  belongs  not 
to  the  one  man,  nor  to  the  many;  neither  to  the 
king  nor  to  the  people.  Vox  populi,  vox  Dei  is  the 
blasphemous  rhodomontade  of  the  demagogue,  that 
accursed  bane  of  free  States  and  arch  enemy  of 
rational  liberty.  Human  ordinances,  to  be  pro- 
ductive of  good,  must  ever  recognize  the  controlling 
power  and  direction  of  the  Supreme  Law-giver. 
Man,  abstractly  considered,  has  no  rights  whatso- 
ever. In  the  state  of  nature,  so-called,  he  is  no 
better  than  the  beasts  that  perish.  He  was  created 
for  society,  and  is  subject  to  bo  governed  in  all 
things  by  the  rules  of  that  primordial  relation. 
The  very  condition  of  his  social  being  imposes 
upon  him  certain  sacred  duties  and  obligations,  and 
in  the  faithful  performance  of  them  he  finds  the 
guaranty  of  his  rights  and  privileges  as  a  member 
of  the  community.  The  fabric  of  government,  vrhat- 
ever  its  form,  must  be  built  on  this  foundation  to 
be  strong  and  permanent,  and  make  sure  of  the 
blessings  of  peace  and  happiness.  In  this  sense, 
the  powers  that  be  arc  ordained  of  God,  and  it  is 
the  duty  of  man  to  obey  them  as  long  as  they 
execute  judgment  with  righteousness,  and  until  they 
are  displaced  in  a  lavrful  manner.  The  doctrine  of 
equality  as  taught  by  rabid  atheistical  philosophers 
is  a  mischievous  heresy,  subversive  alike  of  virtue 
and  religion.  The  society  which  attempts  to  carry 
it  into  practice  as  an  essential  principle  is  doomed 
to  inevitable  destruction.  It  is  not  hard  to  ordain 
a  government  upon  a  just  and  rational  basis,  oj^er- 
ating  through  the  medium  of  equal  and  impartial 
laws,   which  assure   to   every    one    protection    in    his 


AVOODEOUrvXE.  11 

true  rights  of  person  and  property.  The  chief 
danger  to  republican  institutions  lies  in  the  wicked 
instigations  of  designing  demagogues,  who  are  always 
on  hand  to  persuade  the  people  that  they  are  not 
as  well  governed  as  they  ought  to  be,  and  in  the 
restless  and  turbulent  spirit  of  mimkind,  eager  for 
change,  and  ever  willing  to  lend  an  ear  to  sedi- 
tious harangues.'' 

Mr,  Carroll. — ""What  you  have  said  vrell  accords 
with  my  own  sentiments,  albeit  wholly  opposed  to 
the  favorite  axiom  of  certain  voluble  descanters  on 
the  rights  of  man.  Yet,  while  in  my  judgment 
these  doctrines  are  of  paramount  weight,  I  have 
never  been  altogether  able  to  reconcile  them  with 
the   theory   of  man's   capacity    for    self-government." 

Father  Soule. — "Morally  speaking,  mankind  are 
not  capable  of  governing  themselves;  they  feel  at 
all  times  the  urgent  need  of  help  from  on  High 
to  keep  them  in  the  right  way,  to  illumine  their 
minds  and  purify  their  hearts,  and  enable  them  to 
avoid  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  error  and  depravity. 
But  this  fact  affords  the  strongest  argument  in 
favor  of  republican  institutions.  The  very  conscious- 
ness of  our  oft-iniirmities,  of  the  liability  of  each 
and  every  one  of  us  to  bo  biased  and  warped  by 
the  instigations  of  self-interest,  passion  or  caprice, 
furnishes  the  most  powerful  incentive  for  the  enact- 
ment of  such  uniformly  sound  and  wholesome  laws, 
and  for  the  rigid  execution  of  such  equal  and  exact 
justice  as  will  bring  the  combined  force  of  public 
sentiment  to  bear  in  countervailing  individual  aber- 
rations from  the  line  of  probity  and  rectitude. 
Thus,  as  Montesquieu  pithily  remarks,  "Ze5  ho?nmes, 


12  WOODBOUPtXE. 

frippoiu  en  detail,  sont  en  gros  cle  ires  honndes  gens.'' 
It  would  matter  little  to  the  substantial  good  of 
the  State  whether  the  law  was  ordained  by  the 
few  or  the  many,  provided  all  equally  participated 
in  the  benefits  of  government.  People  have  enjoyed 
the  highest  blessings  of  liberty  under  the  reign  of 
despotic  power.  Tyrants  have  occasionally  recog- 
nized and  acted  upon  the  truth,  that  the  whole  art 
of  government  was  the  art  of  being  honest,  of  doing 
to  others  as  they  would  be  done  by;  but  such 
exceptions  are  as  bright  spots  of  verdure  amid  the 
burning  sands  of  the  desert.  There  is  nothing  stable, 
nothing  permanent,  nothing  uniform  or  constant  in 
influence  and  action,  save  in  the  application  of  the 
fundamental  doctrine  that  the  people  are  the  orig- 
inal fountain  and  source  of  all  political  power. 
This,  then,  in  brief,  is  the  rationale  of  free  gov- 
ernment; the  conservation  and  diffusion  of  all  ben- 
eficial influences  in  social  life;  the  encouragement 
and  protection  of  what  is  good  and  profitable  for 
the  State,  and  one  measure  of  justice  to  all  of  every 
degree.  In  the  race  of  life,  some  will  assuredly  out- 
strip others;  to  rise  is  the  ambition  of  every  rea- 
sonable creature,  the  dead  level  of  equality,  of  com- 
munistic fraternizatiou,  is  impossible  from  the  first 
laws  of  man's  nature.  Of  republics  especially  is 
the  saying  true  that,  in  the  observance  of  degree, 
})riority   and   place   stands 

'"The    \\vA':y  aal  married  calm  cf  Slates.' 

"The  postulate  of  self-government,  in  the  just 
sense,  does  not  imply  that  every  member  of  the 
community   is   of  right   entitled   to  a  voice   in   mak- 


WOODBOURXE.  13 

ing  and  administering  the  laws.  As  a  sincere  friend 
of  democratic  institutions,  I  heartily  reprobate  the 
doctrine  of  universal  suffrage.  Xo  man  has  a  natural 
inherent  right  to  vote,  any  more  than  he  has  a 
natural  inherent  right  to  a  suit  of  broadcloth  or 
a  chaise  and  four.  The  ballot  is  purely  a  conven- 
tional  affair,  a  matter  of  civil  contract  and  agree- 
ment, to  be  ascertained  and  regulated  with  refer- 
ence to  the  vast  interests  at  stake  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  society,  and  the  great  purposes  it  is  designed 
to  subserve.  The  fact  that  it  is  impossible  to 
drav»^  the  line  of  suffrage  so  as  not  to  exclude  some 
good  and  to  include  much  bad  material,  is  no 
argument  in  liivor  of  raising  the  floodgates  and  let- 
ting in  the  whole  seething  stream  of  ignorance, 
indigence  and  vice.  As  well  talk  of  sealing  up 
the  sewers  and  conduits  of  the  great  city  of  Paris 
because,  in  spite  of  the  utmost  care,  heaps  of  filth 
will  accumulate  in  out  of  the  way-places,  and  once 
in  a  while  some  article  of  value  is  washed  into 
the   Seine." 

Mr.  a^rro:/.— ''•' That,  after  all,  is  the  veritable 
apple  of  discord  in  our  case — the  troublesome,  ever- 
recurring,  never-ending  suffrage  question.  Already 
some  mad  zealots  are  running  riot  with  tlie  insane 
dogma  of  equality,  and  presently  it  will  be  gravely 
asserted  that  every  son  of  Adam  is  born  heir  to 
an  equal  share  of  the  earth's  fulness,  and  entitled 
to  have  his  say  in  ordering  and  directing  every 
department  of  human  intelligence.  Of  the  two  evils, 
which  is  preferable,  the  compendious  plan  of  old 
Xoll's  canting  crew  of  errant  saints,  who  were 
given  to   decide   all   questions   by  infallible   artillery, 


14  WOODBOURKE. 

or  tlie  monstrous  project  of  allowing,  in  vital  matters, 
the  motley  mob  of  the  nation's  patriots  to  find  or 
make  the  truth  with  yotes?  Universal  suffrage  is 
the  sure  forerunner  of  anarchy,  which  again  is 
only  one  remove   from   despotism." 

Father  SouVe. — "But  surely  these    enthusiasts   wdll 


no 


be  permitted  to  have  their  own  w^ay  in  so 
weighty  a  business.  From  my  intercourse  wdth  the 
leading  spirits  of  the  coming  revolution,  I  am  per- 
suaded there  is  an  ample  fund  of  wisdom,  prudence 
and  skill  among  them  to  mould  and  fashion  the 
breathing  form  of  that  genuine  republican  liberty 
which  is  in  perfect  liarmony  with  the  natural  order 
of  things,  and  which,  confined  within  proper  con- 
stitutional limitations,  is  entirely  compatible  v>'ith 
the  largest  development  of  national  prosperity,  growth 
and  power;  with  the  accumulation  of  WTalth,  the 
encouragement  of  art,  and  the  fair  influence  and 
rightful  aira^randizement  of  individual  talent  and  vir- 

O  Co 

tue.  At  least,  let  there  be  another  grand  experi- 
ment made  before  the  popular  principle  is  con- 
demned for  a  vain  Utopian  dream.  Here  is  the 
golden  opportunity.  In  the  Old  "World  the  young 
Hercules  would  be  strangled  in  his  cradle  by  the 
united  strength  of  ihe  reptiles  of  arbitrary  power. 
In  America  he  will  be  fostered  and  nurtured  with 
loving,  vigilant  care,  and  grow^  up  into  a  giant  of 
manly  might  and  beauty.  His  home  is  a  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  on  Avhich  a  gracious 
Providence  has  emptied  the  horn  of  abundance.  It 
will  be  his  fault  if  he  does  not  reap  the  rich  har- 
vest of  blessings,  which,  with  prudent  husbandry, 
a  diligent  hand   and   a  thankful   heart,   may   remain 


WOODBOUEXE.  15 

the  inheritance  of  him  and  his  children  for  all 
time.  "Wliat  are  those  fine  lines  I  heard  yon  repeat 
this  morning?  They  sounded  in  niy  ear  like  the 
voice   of  prophecy." 

Mr.  Carroll. — '-Bishop  Berkeley's  beautiful  apos- 
trophe. "What  an  enthusiast  he  is,  to  be  sure, 
about  America.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  his  poetical 
vaticinations  may  not  turn  out  to  be  as  visionary 
as  his  metaphysical  disquisitions."  Saying  which, 
he  recited,   vrith  becoming   spirit,   the   famous   lines: 

"Westward  tlic  course  of  emph'c  takes  its  waj-, 
The  first  four  acts  already  past, 
The  fifth  shall  close  the   drama  ^vith  the   day ; 
Time's  noblest  oflspring  is  the  last."' 

"It  is  truly  refreshing,"  continued  Mr.  Carroll, 
"to  hear  you  speak  so  hopefully  of  our  great 
design.  Still  one  cannot  help  feeling  solicitous  about 
it,  when  he  reflects  upon  the  fate  of  the  free 
republics  of  the  Old  World.  To  reach  the  goal  of 
our  hopes,  we  must  pass  through  the  fire  of  revo- 
lution, must  feel  the  blight  and  scourge  of  civil 
war.  Escaping  from  the  fiings  of  oppression,  we 
may  at  last  fall  a  prey  to  the  ambition  of  some 
military  chieftain.  Men  are  ever  prone  to  make 
heroes  and  demigods  of  successful  warriors.  Gener- 
ally speaking,  it  is  the  idolatrous  worship  of  mere 
creatures  of  accident  and  fortune ;  always  it  is  the 
apotheosis  of  a  slavish  sentiment,  the  last  degrada- 
tion of  true  manhood  and  independent  spirit.  It  is 
an  evil  day  for  any  people  when  the  sword  is 
master  of  the  sacred  scats.  There  is  no  surer  mode 
of  destroying  liberty  than  the  cultivation  of  a  purely 
military  spirit  among    the    people.     Look    at    Rome, 


16  WOODBOUEXE. 

whose  motto  was  ^TJhi  casira  ihi  rcsjJuUlca,^  She 
sent  forth  from  her  democratic  loms  the  most  fero- 
cious, remorseless  and  imphicable  race  in  history, 
pursuing  an  ahiiost  uninterrupted  career  of  rapine 
and  shiughter,  until  they  succeeded  in  bringing  all 
nations  under  their  iroii  svray;  a  people,  as  a  late 
writer  happily  says,  who,  while  they  were  poor, 
Yobbed  mankind,  and  as  soon  as  they  became  rich 
robbed  one  another.  To  tlie  last  moment  of  their 
short-lived  glory,  they  never  lost  their  insatiable 
appetite  for  blood.  The  gcindia  ccrtaminis  of  the 
battlefield  were  tame  in  comparison  v/ith  the  gory 
delights  of  the  amphitheatre.  Fearful  was  the  retri- 
bution which  awaited  them.  So  it  has  ever  been 
and  ever  will  be  with  those  whose  feet  are  swift 
to  shed  blood,  and  who  have  not  known  the  way 
of  peace.'' 

Father  SouVt. — '^But  you  should  consider  that  the 
military  genius  of  the  Piomans  was  the  effect  of  early 
habits  and  training,  a  sort  of  hereditary  idiosyncrasy. 
They  were  a  colony  of  exiles  and  homeless  adven- 
turers, who,  having  obtained  a  precarious  foothold 
on  a  hostile  strand,  were  compelled  to  rely  on 
their  valor  and  strength  of  arms  to  maintain  the 
death  struggle  for  mastery.  These  were  their  only 
resources.  The  path  of  safety  led  to  the  broad 
avenue  of  greatness.  Victory  after  victory  over  sur- 
rounding tribes  inflamed  the  martial  ardor,  and 
engendered  an  ineradicable  lust  for  dominion  and 
conquest.  Thus  they  became  a  nation  of  warriors, 
knights  and  nobles,  ruling  by  the  sv\'ord,  and  suf- 
fering themselves,  for  a  period,  to  be  governed  by 
certain   arbitrary  principles    of    military    precedence. 


WOODBOURXE.  17 

The  patrician  elemont  kept  its  ascendancy  until  the 
enjoyment  of  exclusive  privileges  made  them  inso- 
lent and  overbearing,  and  drove  the  commonalty  to 
seek  redress  under  the  leadership  of  successful  gen- 
erals of  their  own  class.  The  civil  broils  that 
ensued  only  intensified  the  burning  thirst  for  power 
and  glory,  and  their  arms  were  never  more  terrible 
than  Avhen,  their  liberties  lost,  they  passed  under 
the  yoke  of  imperial  despotism.  In  your  case, 
when  your  independence  is  gained,  there  can  be 
no  occasion  for  constant  strife  to  evoke  the  demo- 
niac spirit  of  warlike  prowess.  With  a  mere  hand- 
ful of  regular  troops,  you  will  be  able  to  hold  the 
savages  in  subjection,  and  you  liave  nothing  to  do 
but  to  increase  and  multiply  and  replenish  the 
Avilderness  around  you;  to  cultivate  the  arts  of  peace 
and  fraternal  fellowship,  and  adorn  and  beautify  this 
goodly  inheritance,  which  to  my  eyes,  that  have 
seen  a  large  portion  of  it,  bears  the  palm  of 
excellence  over  every  known  re2:ion  of  the  habitable 
globe." 

Mr.  Carroll. — "Defend  it  as  best  we  can  from 
foes  within  and  without;  be  careful  to  mind  our 
own  business,  and  leave  European  powers  to  settle 
the  balance  of  power  any  way  they  like,  so  that 
they  leave  us  out  of  the  account.  But  there  is 
another  light,  my  father,  in  which  we  are  to  exam- 
ine the  subject.  How  will  the  revolution  in  America 
affect  the   cause   of  religion  ? ''' 

Father  SouVe. — "Your  inquiry  has  struck  a  chord 
which  vibrates  to  my  inmost  soul;  but  it  would 
require  a  volume  to  tell  all  that  I  feel  and  think 
upon    that    overshadowing    theme.      The    Church    of 

2* 


18  WOODBOURXE. 

Christ  cannot  be  an  indifferent  spectator  of  the 
widespread  scene  of  desolation  and  "woe  which  T  have 
feebly  portrayed.  It  cannot  look  complacently  on 
at  the  intolerable  iniquity  of  rulers,  causing  souls 
to  perish  by  the  thousands  under  the  crushing 
weight  of  misery  and  despair.  As  faithful  stewards 
of  the  mysteries  and  ministers  of  the  mercies  of 
God,  it  is  our  chief  duty  to  study  how  things  can 
be  rectified,  and  never  to  relax  our  efibrts  to  ame- 
liorate the  condition  of  suffering  humanity.  To 
accomplish  a  thorough  and  lasting  reformation  has 
been  the  absorbing  topic  of  my  prayerful  thoughts, 
the  exclusive  object  of  my  most  strenuous  endeavors 
The  conclusion  to  which  I  have  come  has  been 
indicated  in  what  I  have  before  said.  The  .  potent 
rem.edy  lies  in  the  emancipation  of  society  from 
feudal  thralldom,  and  the  giving  a  new  and  hopeful 
direction  to  the  current  of  popular  thought  and 
feeling." 

Mr.  Carroll — ''"What  of  the  proposed  declaration 
of  universal  toleration,  liberty  of  conscience,  or,  as 
the  self-styled  reformers  call  it,  right  of  private 
judgment?" 

Father  SouVe. — "  There  is  nothing  in  that  to  alarm 
the  fears  of  true  Catholics.  The  mission  of 
Holy  Church  is  to  save  a  world  of  perishing  sin- 
ners. She  is  not  concerned  with  purely  human 
institutions  farther  than  to  exhort  men  to  practice 
the  virtues  of  peace  and  charity  and  good-fellow- 
ship; to  sow  the  seeds  of  brotherly  love  and  kind- 
ness, and  to  prescribe  the  infallible  rule  of  life, 
which  only  can  procure  enduring  public  and  pri- 
vate benefits.     The  capacity  to  think,  as  well  as  the 


WOODBOUPtXE.  19 

power  to  act  for  himself,  is  presupposed  in  the 
plau  of  man's  redemption.  One  of  your  greatest 
writers  says  truly,  that  'out  of  the  rind  of  one 
apple  tasted  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  like 
two  twins  clinging  together,  leaped  into  the  world/ 
And  man  is  endowed  with  the  faculty  of  distin- 
guishing between  good  and  evil,  error  and  truth, 
right  and  wrong.  Yet,  at  the  peril  of  his  immor- 
tal soul,  he  cannot  remain  a  free  thinker  or  a  free 
agent.  He  must,  with  humhle  niith,  accept  the 
guidance  of  one  appointed  teacher,  and  learn  that 
all  roads  lead  to  perdition,  save  the  narrow  way 
along  which  stream  the  cheering  rays  of  a  single 
beacon-light.  To  this  being,  groping  in  thick  dark- 
ness and  ready  to  faint  with  despair.  Holy  Church 
presents  the  heavenly  boon  of  hope  and  consolation, 
which  is  nowhere  to  be  found  except  it  be  within 
the  hallowed  precincts  of  her  awful  pale.  Of  the 
civil  magistrate  she  asks  nothing  but  the  equal 
privilege  which  he  accords  to  others — to  pursue  her 
calling  without  molestation,  unconstrained  by  such 
impious  laws  as  at  this  time  disgrace  the  Province 
of  Maryland,  making  it  a  crime  for  a  bishop  or  a 
priest  to  exercise  his  functions  in  public.  She 
derives  no  power  from  prince  or  potentate;  she  relies 
not  for  help  on  the  arm  of  Cresar;  she  is  not  stib- 
ject  to  the  edicts  of  man;  her  charter  is  derived 
from  the  one  Lavr-giver  vrho  is  able  to  save  and 
to  destroy.  In  this  day  of  her  greatness,  she  can 
laugh  to  scorn  the  impotent  hosts  which  are  arrayed 
a.fcainst  her,  relying  solely  on  the  strength  of  that 
wisdom  which  is  better  than  weapons  of  war.  Her 
early  trials  and  triumphs  were   fu Hilled  as  had  been 


20  WOODBOUR^s'E. 

foretold.  Her  mightiest  struggles  are  ended;  no 
longer  will  she  be  constrained  to  use  those  carnal 
instrumentalities  to  maintain  her  supremacy,  nor  to 
trail  her  bright  robes  in  the  mire  of  political 
intrigue  and  secular  commotion.  Henceforth  her 
ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths 
are  peace.  Of  course,  the  cause  of  religion  must 
suffer  to  some  extent  in  the  approaching  trouble. 
All  the  power  of  the  Church  will  be  powerless  to 
prevent  the  evils  which  are  certain  to  flow  from 
the  cruel  wounds  of  war.  "When  the  hearts  of  men 
are  set  on  deadly  courses,  their  ears  are  deaf  to 
the  appeals  of  Christian  love  and  sympathy.  These 
are  the  irremediable  concomitants  of  bloody  strife; 
we  must  look  to  the  general  result,  which  will  be 
more  liberty,  and  a  firmer  and  broader  foundation 
for  truth  and  justice,  religion  and  piety.  We  shall, 
without  question,  be  gainers  by  the  complete  sepa- 
ration of  Church  and  State,  or,  as  its  advocates 
denominate  it,  the  establishment  of  a  Free  Church 
in  a  free  State.  It  will  remove  one  serious  obstacle 
from  our  path  in  the  destruction  of  Anglican  prel- 
acy, and  by  giving  ample  scope  for  tlie  v^'ranglings 
and  bickerings  of  heretical  sects,  it  will  hasten 
the  final  consummation — a  dire  confusion  of  tongues, 
the  dispersion  of  vain  builders,  and  behold  another 
monument  of  presumptuous  folly  and  wickedness,  a 
dismantled  tower  in  the  midst  of  an  arid  jDlain. 
But  you  will  find  the  whole  matter  fully  set  forth 
in   my   *  Tractate   on   Infidelity.'" 

Mr.  Carroll. — ""Wliich  I  am  now  perusing  dili- 
gently in  order  to  meet  our  adversaries  in  discus- 
sion.    Beyond  the  borders    of   our    province.   Popery 


WOODEOURi^E.  21 

is  still  the  nnvhead  and  bloody- bones  of  vulgar 
prejudice  and  superstition,  and  even  here  the  pri- 
vate chapel  is  the  only  lawful  place  of  religious 
devotion.  I  agree  with  you,  that  as  Catholics  we 
are  not  interested  in  the  form  of  government  under 
which  we  live,  excepting  in  so  far  as  it  is  expo- 
nential of  a  general  creed,  and  that  it  becomes  us 
to  cry  as  loudly  as  the  rest,  *  laisssz  sa  lihertie ! ' 
But  there  comes  the  carriage,  and  I  have  not  yet 
given  you  the  letter  for  Mr.  Arthur  Lee,  nor  the 
commission  for  your  pupil.  "When  may  I  look  for 
you   back?" 

Father  Sotd'c — "I  caimot  name  the  time  exactly, 
but  I  shall  return  early  in  the  spring,  unless  some 
unforeseen  contingency  prevents.  My  own  business 
abroad  is  soon  dispatched.  But  I  have  grave  mis- 
givings about  bringing  that  other  negotiation  to  a 
successful  issue.  France,  with  an  empty  treasury, 
a  disorganized  and  disbanded  army,  and  no  navy 
to  speak  of,  is  ill  prepared  to  provoke  the  ire  of 
her  ancient  enemy  by  taking  up  arms  in  our 
quarrel." 

Mr.  Cdrroll — "Yes,  it  looks  to  me  at  this  mo- 
ment like  an  unpromising  embassy  you  have  under- 
taken in  our  behalf.  Yet,  if  we  can  manage  io 
maintain  the  struggle  unaided  for  a  short  period, 
assistance  is  sure  to  come  to  us  from  that  quarter. 
Meantime,  God  speed  3'our  mission,  and  restore  you 
in  safety  to  your  friends  when  it  is  ended.  Have 
you   any  commands   for  me  ? " 

Fatlier  SouJ'e. — "'  Only  that  in  my  absence  you 
will  assume  the  part  of  mentor  to  that  truant  boy 
of  mine.    If  report  be  true,  he    needs    to    be    care- 


22  wooDBO  cnxE. 

fully    looked    after    just    now.      You    rcmeniber    the 
lines : 

"Amour,  amour,   quand  tu  nous  tiens, 
On  peut  bieii   dire  :   Adieu  Dnulence  ! 

Mr.    Carroll   laughed 

^*I  cheerfully  undertake  the  office,"  said  he;  "the 
more  so  because,  as  you  are  aware,  I  so  warmly 
approve  his   choice   of  a  wife." 

Father  SouVe. — "I  am  heartily  glad  the  affair  meets 
your  approbation.  Edward  wrote  me  a  long  letter 
at  Philadelphia,  filled  with  the  praises  of  his  lady- 
love, which  was  quite  as  interesting  to  me  as  a 
whole  volume  of  the  silly  minstrelsy  of  *Langue 
d'  Oc.^  I  made  him  no  reply,  for  the  simple  rea- 
son that  I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  To  be 
frank,"  he  added,  with  comical  seriousness,  '•'matri- 
mony is  a  sort  of  merchandize  I  know  nothing  about; 
only  the  initiated  are  privileged  to  speak  of  its 
*  rites  mysterious,'  and  to  give  advice  to  the  novices 
wdio  seek  admittance  within  its  holy  pale.  I  shall 
tell  my  pupil  that  in  this  especial  matter  I  have 
resisrned   the   trust  to   you." 

Mr.  Carroll. — "I  accept  it  with  pleasure,  although 
I  suspect  it  will  prove  a  sinecure.  In  my  opinion, 
the  couple  are  admirably  adapted  for  each  other's 
society.  He  is  certainly  in  no  danger  of  losing  a 
particle  of  his  zeal  for  the  good  cause.  The  fair 
Virginian  is  as  fiery  a  rebel  as  Mr.  Henry.  I  hope 
ere  long  to  see  them  happily  embarked  'on  the 
smooth  current  of  domestic  joy,'  as  my  favorite 
poet   says." 

They  entered  tlie  house  as  Mr.  Carroll  was  speak- 
ing.    In  a  little  while  the  priest  reappeared  equipped 


WOODBOUHXE.  23 

for  his  journey,  and  entering  the  carriage,  was 
driven  rapidly  away  for  St.  Inigo's,  whence  he 
intended   crossing  over  to   Virginia. 

The  liberal  sentiments  we  have  attributed  to 
Father  Soule  were  universally  shared  by  the  Eoman 
Catholics  of  Maryland.  Of  the  noble  Proprietary 
of  the  Province,  it  has  been  justly  said  by  Ban- 
croft, that  he  was  the  first  ruler  in  the  history  of 
the  Christian  world  "to  plan  the  establishment  of 
popular  institutions  with  the  enjoyment  of  liberty 
of  conscience;  to  advance  the  career  of  civilization 
by  recognizing  the  rightful  equality  of  all  religious 
sects."  As  early  as  1648  the  legislature  of  the 
colony,  on  behalf  of  the  people,  proclaimed  the 
broadest  toleration  in  matters  relating  exclusively  to 
conscience  and  the  favor  of  God,  and  manfully  did 
their  descendants  uphold  and  defend  the  declaration 
with  pen  and  sword,  with  life,  fortune  and  sacred 
honor.  And  among  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
the  Eevolution,  no  one  was  more  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  the  generous  and  enlightened  spirit  of 
free  institutions,  or  had  a  more  sagacious  percep- 
tion of  the  dangers  to  which  they  are  constantly 
exposed,  and  of  the  safeguards  which  are  necessary 
for  their  protection,  than  Charles  Carroll  of  Carroll- 
ton,  the  conservative  Catholic  statesman  of  Maryland. 


CHAPTER    II. 


XD  novr,  old  fellow/'  said  Carleton  to  liis 
host  shortly  after  dinner  on  the  Sunday 
mentioned  in  the  hist  chapter  of  the 
first  Toliime,  '-comes  the  sweet  sorrow  of 
parting.  I  will  trouble  you  to  have  my  horse 
gotten — *' 

"No,  no,  Harry,"  responded  his  friend,  pleadingly; 
"you  surely  will  not  desert  me  at  this  pinch. 
Your  folks  can  sj^are  you  for  a  day  or  two  longer, 
and  I  really  must  insist  on  3'our  staying  to  cheer 
me  up;-  this  wretched  business  has  put  me  con- 
foundedly out  of  sorts,  as  you  plainly  see." 

"You  are  wofully  in  the  dumps,  Dickon,"  re- 
plied Carleton.  "I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  you  as  much  so.  Try  as  I  might,  I  liave  not 
been  able  to  get  more  than  a  monosyllable  out  of 
you  for  the  last  three  hours,  and  you  scarcely 
touched  a  morsel  of  food  at  dinner,  which  I  take 
to  be  a  yery  alarming  symptom  in  so  good  a 
trencher-man   as  you   generally  are." 

Diclc. — "  I  know  I  am  not  company  for  a  cat 
just    at    present;    but    I'll   rally    by-and-bye — unless 

(21) 


WOODBOURXE.  25 

you  go  awav,  wlien  I  shall  be  downright  miserable, 
and  no  mistake ;  all  alone  by  myself,  like  John 
Ford  in   the  play/' 

Carleion. — '•  There's  no  resisting  such  a  piteous 
appeal  as  that.  A  queer  figure  you  would  cut  in 
a  regular  fit  of  the  blue  devils.  "Well,  there  is 
nothing  of  special  urgency  that  requires  my  imme- 
diate presence   at   home,   and  you   know 

•••I  am   not   that  feather  to   shake   off 
My  friend  when  he   most  needs  me.' 

Enough;   111   stay,   on   one   condition.'^ 

i)/Vyl-.— ••  AVhat   is   that?" 

Harry. — ••  That  you  answer  the  question  I  asked 
you   an   hour   ago."' 

Dick. — *•  Repeat  it.'' 

Harry. — ''  What  I  wish  to  know  is,  do  you  really 
believe  that  cock-and-bull  story  about  the  fellow's 
being   the   boy's   father?'' 

Bid:—''  I  hardly  know  what  to  believe,  Harry. 
I  remember  well  the  woman  in  whose  charge 
Archie  was  left — the  old  harness-maker's  widow; 
she   has   been   dead   six   years   or  more.'' 

Harry. — "But  why  did  the  rascal  wish  to  steal 
his  OAvn  offspring?  What  was  to  prevent  his  going 
straight  to  Mr.  Thompson  and  claiming  the  boy, 
if  he   had   an   honest   right   to   him?" 

Dick. — ••  Because  in  that  case  the  Collector  would 
have  been  certain  to  demand  confirmations  strong 
as  proofs  of  Holy  "Writ,  and  I  imagine  the  fellow 
was  not   prepared   to  give   them." 

Harry. — '•'  Your  friend  Dent,  it  seems,  is  as  deeji 
in  the  mud   as   'tother   chap  is  in   the  mire." 

3 


26  WOODBOURXE. 

Dich. — "My  friend?  Why,  I  have  never  ex- 
changed £1  dozen  words  "with  him,  although  I  have 
frequently  seen  him  at  Mr.  Ballantine's,  and  once 
or  twice  at  Bonhill.  He  is  the  most  taciturn  and 
impassive  human  being  I  ever  beheld ;  yet  his 
manners  and  bearing  show  him  to  be  greatly 
superior  to  his  class.  Mr.  Graeme,  I  know,  thinks 
highly  of  him,  from  whom  I  learned  that  lie  enjoys 
the  unlimited  confidence  of  his  employers.  He  has 
had  command  of  that  fine  ship  ever  since  she  was 
launched,  ten  years  ago  last  spring.  It  is  probable 
that  he  connived  at  Archie's  abduction,  believing 
the  man's  story  to  be  true;  farther  than  that,  I 
am   convinced   he   had   no   hand   in   the   matter." 

Harry. — "Yes;  but  how  about  Mr.  Conrad?  Who 
but  Dent   is   responsible  for  his   forcible  detention?'' 

Dick  (wincing  smartly). — ••  That  does  look  bad  I 
must  admit,  Harry.  What  it  means  I  cannot  for 
my  life  conjecture,  and  when  I  asked  Mr.  Graeme, 
all  he  said  was  'I  dinna  ken,  I  dinna  ken;'  but 
between  us  two  and  the  gate-post,  I  am  very  sure 
he  knows  all  abotit  it.  He,  too,  has  gotten  to  be 
most    provokingly   mysterious   all  of  a   sudden.'' 

Harry. — "His  daughter,  then,  is  as  much  in  the 
dark   as   the   rest  of  tis  ? " 

Dick  shrugged  his  shoulders,  elevated  his  eye- 
brows,  and   was   silent. 

"  There  is  nothing  left  for  us,  Dickon,"  resumed 
his  sympathizing  friend  and  pitcher,  '-'but  'patience 
and  shuflBe  the  cards.'  Changing  the  subject,  that 
sermon  to-day  was  a  rouser,  and,  by  the  same 
token,  I  am  reminded  that,  when  at  home,  it  is 
my     custom     of    a     Sabbath     afternoon     to     read    a 


"SVOODCOURXE.  27 

homily  of  some  sort.  Since  3'ou  are  not  in  the 
humor  of  talking,  I'll  see  if  I  cannot  find  a  more 
agreeable  companion.  What  have  you  in  the  library 
suitable   for   Sunday  reading?" 

DicL—"  Ohy  there  is  a  host  of  orthodox  gi'ey- 
beards,  get  one  of  them  and  read  to  me — Attcr- 
bury,  if  congenial;  he  is  my  favorite  of  the  lot; 
at  least,  the  easiest  of  digestion." 

Carleton  went  for  the  book.  On  returning  to  the 
dining-room  he  discovered  that  his  host  had  dis- 
posed himself,  doubtless  for  the  better  convenience 
of  listening,  astride  a  chair,  with  his  head  on  his 
arms  and  his  back  to  the  fire. 

Selecting  such  a  homily  as  suited  his  own  taste. 
or  to  be  more  literal,  such  an  one  the  text  of 
which  struck  his  fancy,  the  devout  cavalier,  having 
drawn  his  chair  nearer  to  the  window,  began  to 
read  aloud  to  his  very  quiet  and  apparently  deeply 
interested  auditor.  Besides  having  a  full,  rich  and 
melodious  voice,  he  was  a  practiced  elocutionist,  and 
did  ample  justice  to  his  subject,  pausing  once  in  a 
while,  as  he  proceeded,  at  the  close  of  a  particularly 
striking  passage,  to  let  it  have  its  due  influence 
on  his  appreciative  friend.  Thus  our  vicarious 
preacher  went  on  from  point  to  point  of  his  elo- 
quent discourse,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  a  most 
searching  application  to  the  heart  and  conscience 
of  his  fellow-sinner,  when,  to  his  amazement  and 
chagrin,  Dick  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet,  crying 
out,   "Eureka!     I   have   it— just    the    very  thing,"— 

"Well,  my  pattern  of  good  manners,"  said  Carle- 
ton,  "I  am  truly  glad  to  learn  that  Doctor  Atter- 
bury's    excellent    sermon    has    inspired    you    with    a 


28  WOODBOURXE. 

happy  idea;  of  course  you  liavo  heard  every  word 
of  it  ?  " 

'•'Ten  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  hoy,"  replied 
Dick;  '-I  meant  no  sort  of  disrespect  to  the  good 
Doctor  or  yourself.  I  could  not  help  it  for  my 
life;  it's  just  an  utter  impossibility  to  keep  my 
mind   from    running   on   yesterday's    doings." 

"And  -what  new  project  has  the  retrospect  dis- 
closed to  your  inventive  genius?"  inquired  Carleton, 
with  stately  courtesy,  trying  to  look  as  he  imagined 
became  a  grave  divine  who  had  been  mortified  to 
find  that  the  good  seed  he  had  been  industriously 
sowing   had   fallen   on   a   hopelessly   sterile  spot. 

"The  wonder  is,"  replied  Dick,  "that  I  had  not 
thought  of  it  sooner.  You  remember  the  stranger 
I  pointed  out  to  you  in  church  this  morning — 
sitting   in   Mr.    Ballantine's   pew?" 

""Well,    what  of  him?" 

"Why,  this:  he  came  down  from  Alexandria  in 
the  Endeavor  last  night,  expecting  to  get  a  passage 
for  foreign  parts,  and  I  overheard  Mr.  Ballantine 
telling  Colonel  Littleton  that  he  would  have  to 
send  him  around  to  the  Eappahannock  in  the  En- 
cleavor  to  meet  the  Katrine.  Dent,  he  said,  had  to 
go  first  to  Hobb's  Hole  for  additional  freight  and 
another  passenger.  Xow,  my  plan  is  for  you  and 
me  to  go  too;  there  is  plenty  of  time,  the  weather 
permitting,  for  us  to  make  Merry  Point  several 
hours  in  advance  of  the  Katrine;  then,  we'll  land, 
get  a  warrant  from  Colonel  Gordon,  who  is  a 
magistrate,  summon  a  posse  to  aid  us,  and  capture 
the   whole   ship's   crew." 

Carleton  was  delimited.     "'The  device  is  excellent; 


WOODBOURXE.  29 

I'm  your  man,"  he  exclaimed,  springing  up  with 
alacrity;  "that  is  one  of  them,  for  had  we  not 
hest  carry   a   sufficient   force   along   Avith   us?" 

"  Xo,"  replied  Dick ;  "  there's  no  time  for  col- 
lecting it.  ^Ye  will  have  to  hurry  to  get  aboard 
before  dark.  Mr.  Ballantine  will  be  shy  of  trusting 
his  vessel  on  the  bay ;  some  of  Dunniore's  cruisers 
might  be  lying  around,  and  they  don't  let  a  sail 
l)as3  unchallenged.  "We  shall  have  to  creep  out  in 
the  night-time.  Besides,  if  we  made  a  stir  about 
it,  he  would  know  at  once  what  we  were  going 
for,  and  might  not  be  willing  to  risk  his  schooner 
in   such   a  dangerous   enterprise." 

"  Well,  then,  you  and  I  will  about  it ;  '  the  fewer 
men,  the  greater  share  of  honor,' — but,  I  say,  Dick, 
we  must  not  let  the  servants  have  a  hint  of  it.  I 
luive   a   fancy   to   take   all   our   friends    by   surprise." 

"How,   if  we   should   fail?*' 

"We  fail;  but  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking 
place — " 

"0  bother  your  Shakespeare,"  said  Dick,  ringing 
the  bell.  "Mr.  Carleton's  horse  and  mine,  James, 
and  one  for  yourself,  and  be  quick  about  it.  He 
will  have  to  go  with  tis  to  bring  the  horses  back; 
but   I   can   manage   him." 

Their  preparations  vrere  soon  made.  On  the  road 
Carleton  remarked:  "There  is  one  thing  I  don't 
like  in  your  programme,  Dick.  Why  say  a  word 
to  Mr.  Ballantine  ?  He  will  be  sure  to  suspect 
what  our  design  is  after  the  commotion  here,  and 
fall  to  questioning  us,  and  how  are  we  going  to 
put   him   off?" 

"'  Easy  enough,"  said  Dick ;   "  I'll   tell  him — which 

8* 


30  AVOODBOrRXE. 

is  true  in  a  sense,  yon  know — that  yon  wish  to 
go  to  Lancaster  on  pressing  business  with  Colonel 
Gordon." 

Carleton  shook  his  head.  ''  That  will  not  pass 
current  with  him.  ILj  is  my  father's  general  factor 
in  business  matters,  and  he  knows,  as  well  as  you 
do,  that  I  have  none  of  my  own  in  that  quarter. 
Being  a  gentleman,  he  would  not  directly  impugn 
your  yeracity ;  but  in  all  likelihood  he  would  say 
to  us,  *You  are  welcome  to  go,  young  gentlemen, 
on  one  condition :  it  is  probable  you  will  fall  in 
with  the  Katrine;  if  so,  you  must  give  her  a  wide 
berth ; '  the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  that  tlie  long- 
headed old  merchant  is  too  shrewd  a  bird  to  be 
caught  by  our  chaff;  he  will  have  our  secret  out 
of  us  before   you   can   say   Jack  Eobinson." 

"  Then,"  said  Dick,  reining  back  his  horse  with 
a   crest-fallen   air,   "  we   had   as   well   turn   back.'' 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Carleton,  eagerly.  "  Come 
ahead.  "We'll  just  take  the  bull  by  the  horns — that 
is,  board  the  Endeavor  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  creek  without  asking  the  owner's  leave  or 
license.  The  skipper  we  both  know  for  a  good- 
natured  simpleton;  he  is  not  apt  to  be  inquisitive, 
and  if  he  does  ask  questions,  we  need  not  answer 
them." 

Dick  readily  agreed  to  this  alteration  of  his  plan 
of  campaign.  In  a  little  while  tlie  friends  stood 
upon  the  deck  of  the  schooner.  Slie  was  preparing 
to  weigh  anchor.  The  captain,  a  mild-mannered 
man  and — rara  avis  of  the  un feathered  aquatic 
tribe — not  given  to  swearing,  was  taken  all  aback 
by  their  sudden  appearance.  "I'll  agree  to  die,"  he 
began,   with   his   favorite   expletive. 


^VOODBOUKXE.  31 

"  Surprised  to  see  u?,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Braun  ? '' 
interrupted  Carleton.  ^'Alloway  and  I  have  a  busi- 
ness appointment  with  a  party  in  Lancaster.  By 
the  gi-eatest  good  luck  we  happened  to  hear  you 
were  going  round  in  the  vessel,  and  made  all  speed 
to  catch   you ;   we   are   in  the  nick   of  time." 

"But,  Master  Harrv,  and  same  to  vou,  Master 
Richard,''  remonstrated  the  skipper,  '*iny  orders  is 
most  pertickler." 

*'  Oh,  I  understand  all  that ;  don't  give  yourself 
the  least  trouble ;  we'll  make  it  right  with  Mr. 
Ballantine  when  we  get  back.  There's  not  a  moment 
to  lose;  the  wind  is  falling,  and  you'll  need  every 
capfull.  Up  with  your  anchor,  and  let's  be  off,  or 
this  gentleman,*'  bowing  to  the  stranger,  '-will  lose 
his  passage."'  But  seeing  the  wary  skipper  still  in- 
clined to  debate  the  point  from  his  muttering  about 
it's  being  "contrairy  to  orders,"  Carleton  tore  a  leaf 
from  his  pocketbook,  hurriedly  wrote  a  few  lines, 
and  throwing  the  paper  to  a  negro  who  VN-as  passing 
in  a  boat,  bade  him  give  it  Mr.  Ballantine. 
''  There,  sir,"  said  he,  Avith  assumed  sternness, 
"that  takes  the  blame,  if  any,  off  your  shoulders. 
I  have  assumed  the  whole  responsibility  of  your 
deviating   fi'om   orders." 

Seemingly  satisfied,  Mr.  Braun  got  the  vessel 
under  weigh,  and,  coming  back,  conducted  the  party 
to  the  neat  and  commodious  cabin  of  the  Endeavor^ 
which  had  been  fitted  up  expressly  for  conveying 
passengers  from  place  to  place  on  the  Chesapeake 
and  its  tributaries.  The  young  adventurers  found 
their  comjmgnon-du-voyage  to  be  another  of  those 
discreet   tradesmen    from    the    ''land   o'   cakes,"   who 


32  WOODBOURXE. 

had  thought  best  to  keep  out  of  harm's  way  by 
returning  to  their  native  clime  until  the  advent  of 
better  times  for  people  of  inoffensive  manners  and 
speculative  talents.  Carleton  in  vain  tried  to  entrap 
him  into  a  discussion  of  the  one  overshadowing 
topic,  the  war  with  England.  He  put  it  aside  each 
time  it  was  mentioned  with  polite  address,  and 
finally  cut  the  disagreeable  subject  short  by  the 
pointed  speech,  that  '"'when  a  lad  he  was  fule 
enough  to  be  out  in  tlie  ^o,  and  if  the  gude 
Lord  had  forgiven  him  for  that,  he  deserved  to  be 
hanged  and  quartered  if  he  was  ever  caught  in 
another  such  scrape."  Seeing  that  they  could  not 
get  up  a  scene  with  the  "  false  Thane,"  as  Carleton 
dubbed  him,  the  cavaliers  soon  followed  the  wortliy 
Scotchman's  good  example,  and  turned  in  for  the 
night. 

How  long  they  had  been  sleeping  they  could  not 
tell,  before  they  were  rudely  aroused  by  a  sudden 
violent  shock  and  tremor  of  the  vessel,  which  well 
niirh  threw  them  from  their  berths.  At  the  same 
time  there  was  a  great  noise,  rattling  of  cordage, 
creaking  of  bolts  and  stamping  of  feet  on  deck. 
"  She  has  gone  about  in  a  jiify,"  exclaimed  Dick. 
"What  can  it  mean?"  and  he  hastened  to  see.  At 
the  head  of  the  companion-way  he  met  the  skipper; 
he  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost  and  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

"AVhat's  to  pay,  Mr.  Braun?"  But  before  the 
latter  could  reply,  Dick's  question  was  answered  by 
a  blinding  flash  of  light,  followed  by  the  stunning 
boom  of  a  cannon,  and  a  ball  went  whizzing  high 
over  them,  and  fell  in  the  water  a  quarter  of  a 
mile   aliead. 


wooDr.ouKXE.  33 

"We  are  iosr,  Master  Richard;  it's  one  of  them 
chaps  from  below,''  said  Braun  in  a  terrified  whisper, 
as  if  he  were  fearful  lest  tliev  migiit  hear  him 
speak. 

Alloway  was  soon  joined  by  liis  companions,  Avhom 
he  in  a  few  words  made  to  comprehend  the  state 
of  the   matter. 

"'It  is  useless  to  try  our  heels,  Harry,"  said  he, 
aside,  to  Carleton;  "Braun  is  scared  out  of  his 
wits,  and  he  and  the  mate  are  our  sole  dependence 
among  the  crew.  AA'e  are  in  for  it — there  she  goes 
again.''  As  he  spoke  another  shot,  aimed  as  the 
first,   came   screaming  through   the   frosty  night   air. 

"Dovrn  with  everything  but  the  mainsail  and  jib^ 
Mr.  Braun,  and  heave  to;  the  next  time  we  shall 
catch  it  if  we  don't  heed  the  last  admonition. 
There   she   is." 

The  dark  outline  of  a  large  vessel  was  plainly 
visible  a  short  distance  to  the  sotithward.  Allowav's 
commands  were  promptly  executed,  and  as  the 
Endeavor  vrore  rotmd,  the  stranger  passed  slowly  by 
on  her  starboard  side,  within  pistol  shot.  She  was 
close-reefed  alow  and  aloft,  ready  for  any  emergencv, 
and  eviden'tly  on  the  qui  vive  for  passing  vessels. 
In  a  twinkling  more,  she  hove  to  and  lowered  a 
boat,  which  pulled  swiftly  straight  for  the  Endeavor. 
The  day  was  just  beginning  to  dawn  and  there  was 
light  enough  for  our  party  to  see  that  they  were 
in  the  Rappahannock,  and  immediately  off  the  mouth 
of  {he  Curritoman.  Xot  a  word  was  spoken  as  thev 
stood  intently  gazing  at  the  rapidly  approaching 
boat.  It  was  soon  alongside;  a  smart  young  fellow, 
looking  every   inch   a    true    Englisli   sailor,   catching 


34  WOODBOUEXE. 

hold  of  the  shrouds,  bounded  on  the  deck  of  the 
Endeavor,  and  called  out  in  a  tone  of  authority, 
"  Who  commands  here  ?  "  Then,  regarding  the  group 
who  confronted  him  with  a  look  of  astonishment, 
"  \^Qg  pardon,  gentlemen,''  he  continued,  saluting 
them  respectfully,  ''to  whom  must  I  make  known 
Captain   Markham's   request  ?  " 

''To  either  one  or  to  all  three  of  us;  it  makes 
little  difference,  I  imagine,*'  replied  Dick,  to  wiiom 
the   officer   last   looked. 

"Then,  I  am  instructed  to  say  that  he  will  be 
pleased   to   see  you   on   board   the   Afalanta.'' 

"Decidedly  polite,  Harry;  there  is  no  help  for 
it;  we'll  have  to  go.  Markham,  too;  that's  devilish 
queer." 

"Rather  more  fun  than  we  bargained  for,  Dickon," 
replired  his  friend  in  the  same  low  tone;  "'but  it  is 
exciting,  nevertheless;  let's  see  what  it  leads  to. 
AYhat  say  you,  Mr.  Hunter,"  raising  his  voice, 
"shall   we   go   in   a  body." 

"I  am  minded  to  gang  mysel',  young  sirs,"  replied 
the   Scotchman.     "Ye   maun   do   as   ye   loicke." 

"Crusty  old  hunk  I  but  he  shan't  be  spokesman," 
and  stepping  forward,  Carleton  said  to  the  officer 
ill  waiting,  "AVe  have  all  concluded  to  accept  Cap- 
tain Markham's  gracious  invitation,  sir.  Come,  Dick, 
lead  the  way;  you  are  Captain  of  our  little  craft 
for  this  occasion.  The  Atalanta !  a  fleet-footed 
damsel  she  looks  to  be;  the  Eagle  would  be  better 
still,  a  royal  bird,  that  "prunes  the  immortal 
wing   and   cloys   his   beak." 

"'By   Jupiter,"   said   Dick,    "she   is  a   beauty." 

AVliat  the  subject  of  these  rapturous  encomiiinis 
was   doing   thei-e   will    in    due   time   appear. 


CHAPTER   III 


n^-^1  0  anniliilate  time  and  space  at  his  v.ill 
y<^.  1^^  and  pleasure  is  the  immemorial  priyilege 
I  &!  fe^     of   tlie  story  '»vriter.     The   obseqitious  genii 

^ ^    of    fancy    come     at     his     beck    and     call, 

and  ■v\'hisk  him  through  the  boundless  ether  oi 
dreamland  to  whatever  spot  there  is  most  urgent 
need  of    his   presence. 

Whether  George  Graeme's  love  of  Mary  Littleton 
was  the  spur  of  his  ambition,  or  whether  he  had 
found  in  the  '"'last  infirmity  of  noble  minds"'  an 
incentive 

"To   sCorn   delights  and  live  laborious  dtns," 

vre  cannot  undertake  to  decide.  Yet  it  is  our 
privilege  to  record  the  gratifying  fact  that  at  this 
time  the  report  of  Dean  and  Faculty  spoke  gold- 
enly  of  the  profit  the  young  Virginian  was  reaping 
in  the  arduous  and  unflagging  pursuit  of  his  chosen 
studies.  lie  had  taken  chambers  in  the  college, 
and  here  on  an  evening  in  the  month  of  October 
in  that  year  vre  see  him  in  his  cosy  and  comfort- 
able   room    in    graceful   dishabille    of    dressing-gown 

(S5) 


3G  WOODBOIRNE. 

and  slipi^ers,  and  dishevelled  locks,  cf  a  someAvliut 
pale  and  emaciated,  thougli  not  dyspeptic  frame, 
and  wearing  upon  the  whole  the  unconscious  air 
and  attitude  of  an  earnest  and  grateful  delver  in 
the  mine  of   knowledge. 

On  the  table  in  front  of  him  was  a  pretty  model 
of  Xewcomen's  steam-engine,  which  he  had  borrowed 
from  the  Museum,  and  from  a  paper  of  notes  and 
drawings  spread  out  before  him  he  was  intent  on 
investigating  the  principle  and  practical  result  of 
Watt's  great   discovery. 

It  was  nearly  ten  years  since  science  revealed  the 
v/onder  to  her  favorite  son  as  he  was  walking  on 
the  Green  of  Glasgow,  "at  the  point  of  the  road 
half-way  between  the  Herd's  House  and  Arn's  "Well.'' 
Unlike  the  Syracusan  worthy,  he  did  not  straight- 
way fall  into  an  ecstasy  of  deliglit,  but  quietly 
turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  and  set  about 
constructing  a  simple  model  to  explain  and  illus- 
trate his  invention.  He  was  doomed  for  a  season 
to  feel  the  bitterness  of  hope  deferred;  scientific 
experts  gave  out  that  his  engine  was  not  worth  a 
rush,  and  he  hvA  a  liard  struggle  to  bring  it  to 
the  crucial  test  of  fair  experiment.  But  at  last  his 
triumph  came,  and  with  it  came  the  mighty  revolu- 
tion which  has  shaken  the  material  universe  from 
centre  to  circumference.  The  genius  of  iron 
strength  has  yiehled  tame  obedience  to  the  will 
of  man,  and  ]iow  mountain  and  valley,  and  hill 
and  plain,  the  unfathomable  recesses  of  earth  and 
ocean,  reverberate  the  stunning  din  of  his  mocking 
song,    as   he   scoffs   at   the   pride   of  fleshly   power: 


WOODBOURXE.  37 

"I   blow  the  bellows,   I  forge  the  steel 
In  all  the  shops  of    trade ; 
I  hammer  the  ore  and  turn  tlie  wheel, 
Where  my  arms  of    strength  are  made, 

I  manage  the  furunce,   the   mill,  the  mint, 

I  carry,  I  spin,   I  weave. 
And  all  my  doings  I  put  in  print 

On  every  Saturdaj-  eve  I '' 

On  the  evening  to  which  we  refer,  our  student 
had  not  long  been  occupied  with  his  absorbing 
task  before  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
a  porter  with  a  letter  for  him.  A  bright  flush  of 
joy  put  to  flight  the  pale  cast  of  thought  from  his 
brow,  as  he  recognized  his  mother's  hand-writing, 
and,  pushing  aside  his  work,  he  was  soon  buried 
in  the  interesting  news  from  home; — interesting,  as 
it  proved  to  be,  beyond  anything  he  had  ever  before 
read;  for  it  contained  the  story  of  that  motlier's 
singularly-eventful  life,  of  which  up  to  this  moment 
he  had  not  had  the  remotest  intimation.  This  docu- 
ment is,  unfortunately,  missing  from  our  collection. 
AVe  have  no  recourse  but  to  supply  the  deficiency 
with  a  narrative  compiled  from  other  sources  of 
information : 

On  that  day,  ever-memorable  in  British  annals, 
in  which  the  Chevalier  Charles  Edward,  like  a  true 
hero  of  Old  Eomance,  set  out  from  Eome  with  the 
stout  resolution  to  make  or  mar  the  cruel  fates, 
an  adventure  which  has  been  described  with  seeming 
justice  as  one  of  the  most  extraordinary,  splendid, 
and  hopeless  ever  recorded  in  history,  there  lived  in 
hermetical   seclusion   amono^   tlie    fastnesses   of    Cum- 


38  WOODBOURXE. 

berlancl,  in  Englaud,  one  Sir  Ed^'ard  Markliam, 
baronet,  third  'in  regular  descent,  from  the  devoted 
liegeman  v/lio  fell  by  Falkland's  side  fighting  for 
the  King  at  Newberry.  Early  in  life  the  good 
knight,  now  well  stricken  in  years,  had  heedlessly 
blundered  into  making  an  uncongenial  matrimonial 
alliance.  The  affinities,  as  the  saying  is  nowadays, 
were  all  awry  at  the  start,  and  the  consequences 
were  unending  disquiet,  vexation  and  misery  to  the 
high  contracting  parties  to  what  the  world  usually 
styles  a  very  brilliant  match.  Fortunately,  the 
marriage  was  unproductive  of  fruits ;  there  was  no 
innocent  offspring  to  be  made  unhappy  in  count- 
less ways  by  the  conjugal  contretemps.  As  is  cus- 
tomary in  sucli  cases  of  incompatible  married  life, 
there  vrere  two  sides  to  the  question;  public 
opinion  was  at  the  time  equally  divided  as  to 
which  of  the  tv^'o,  baron  or  feme,  was  to  be 
ascribed  the  largest  share  of  the  censure  so  ready 
to  be  lavished  on  either  or  both ;  but  inasmuch  as 
the  tough  old  knight  outlived  his  gentle  Xantippe 
(for  such  she  really  v\'as)  for  many  a  long  year, 
and  never  afterwards  evinced  the  least  hankering 
after  the  delicacies  of  vredlock,  it  is  not  unfair  to 
suppose  that  he  had  discovered  a  venomous  spider, 
of  the  species  tarantula,  in  his  first  and  only 
hymenial  dumpling.  He  barely  had  time  to  felici- 
tate himself  on  having  providentially  gotten  rid  of 
his  terrible  domestic  plague  when  a  post  came 
from  India  with  the  distressing  news  of  the  sudden 
death  of  the  one  being  whom  he  loved  of  all  the 
world — a  brother   next   of  age   to   himself. 

Frederick  Markham  vras  bred  a  soldier,  had  fought 


WOODBOURXE.  39 

with  marked  distinction  under  Marlborough,  and  till 
wiihin  a  short  while  after  George  the  First  ascended 
the  throne  he  had  spent  his  dearest  action  in  the 
tented  fieid.  A  brave,  disinterested  spirit,  he  fol- 
lowed the  great  captain  to  assured  victory,  and 
thought  of  nothing  but  the  glory  of  England,  while 
the  welkin  resounded  with  hosannas  of  praise  to 
the  conquering  chieftain — a  thunderbolt  of  war,  yet 
a  reproach  to  his  race.  Sharing  in  the  political 
sentiments  of  his  eldest  brother,  he  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  exiled  family  from  a  conviction  of 
duty,  because  he  honestly  believed  them  to  be  the 
legitimate  sovereigns  of  Britain.  His  devotion  was 
not  the  offspring  of  maudlin  sentimentality,  nor  of 
designing  ambition,  but  the  outgiving  of  simple 
loyaltv,  of  sincere,  earnest  and  single-hearted  fidelity 
to  principle.  He  saw  his  idol,  and  straightway 
there  was  a  miracle  of  undeification.  Yet  he  could 
not  abase  himself  before  th.e  uncouth  image  of 
kingly  imposture  that  had  been  brought  over  from 
Zell  to  rule  in  a  country  the  most  illustrious  in 
arts  and  arms  of  any  in  the  world.  Disgusted  and 
heartsick,  he  sold  out  of  his  regiment,  and  taking 
service  with  the  East  India  Company,  sailed  for 
Madras  with  the  lovely  and  courageous  young  wife 
of  the  Campbells  of  Glenorchy,  to  whom  he  had 
been  a  year  before  united.  Here  his  energies  were 
wholly  enlisted  in  farthering  his  own  fortunes.  In 
the  course  of  time  he  managed  to  scrape  together 
as  much  money  as  he  desired,  and  was  looking 
anxiously  forward  to  the  day  he  had  fixed  upon  for 
his  return  to  England,  when  the  stroke  of  an  over- 
whelming   calamity    laid    plan    and    projector    prone 


40  WOODBOURXE. 

in  the  dust.  A  pestilential  fever,  incident  to  that 
climate  so  deadly  to  Europeans,  yisited  the  place 
of  his  residence,  and  claimed  for  its  yictims  first 
the  father,  then  three  of  the  children,  and,  lastly, 
the  noble  Avoman  who  had  insisted  ujwn  sharing 
her  husband's  lot  iu  that  remote  and  inhospitable 
clime.  Tv\'o  children  were  left — one  a  delicate  boy 
cf  five  or  six  summers;  the  other  a  girl,  an  infant 
hardly  a  year  old.  They  were  brought  home  to 
Eno-lund  and  consi2:ned  to  the  char;]^e  of  their 
uncle,  Sir  Edward,  and  well  and  tenderly  did  the 
good  old  baronet  undertake  the  pious  trust  and 
strive  to  fill  the  yacuum  in  the  orphaned  liyes  of 
the  poor  unfortunates.  He  took  them  to  his  heart 
of  hearts,  and  made  them  completely  his  own 
children.  From  that  moment  he  had  no  thought, 
no  care,  no  aspiration,  no  hope,  that  did  not  centre 
in  them.  And  when  they  came  to  repay  his  loving 
kindness  with  more  than  filial  affection,  the  gloomy 
donjon-keep  of  a  castle  in  which  he  had  been  so 
long  immured  was  irradiated  from  turret  to  founda- 
tion-stone with  the  heavenly  light  of  happiness  and 
home.  He  had  one  other  brother,  from  whom  he 
was  separated  by  an  impassable  gulf.  Differing  in 
every  element  of  character,  there  was  nothing  in 
common  between  him  and  William  Markham  but 
the  name  they  had  inherited  from  the  same  father. 
Of  the  latter  person  it  may  be  said  that  he  was 
a  shining  example  of  prostituted  talents— an  accom- 
plished time-server  and  supple  court  tool,  who 
recognized  only  one  cardinal  maxim  in  life,  which 
was  the  utter  abnegation  of  all  fixed  principles  of 
conduct,   and   adapting   himself  with   marvellous  ease 


wooDcounxE.  41 

to  the  ever  clianging  modes  and  measures  of  that 
starred  and  spangled  scene  '*'  where  low  brow'd 
Baseness  Avafts  j^erfume  to  Pride.''  Possessed  of  such 
versatile  gifts,  and  Avith  a  rare  genius  for  petty 
intrigue,  he  rapidly  rose  in  favor  with  the  new 
administration,  and  was  employed  in  sundry  lucra- 
tive offices  of  a  confidential  and  by  no  means 
scrupulously  honorable  description.  To  the  dis- 
affc'cted  party  he  contrived  to  render  himself  par- 
ticularly obnoxious  by  his  zeal  and  activity  in 
ferretting  out  the  secret  plots  and  machinations  of 
the  Jacobites.  It  was  in  this  manner  that  he  had 
incurred  the  everlasting  displeasure  of  his  brother. 
Sir  Edward,  who,  although  far  from  being  violent 
and  demonstrative  in  his  general  demeanor,  was 
nevertheless  a  staunch  and  conscientious  adherent 
of  the  opposition  side  in  the  great  constitutional 
debate  concerning  the  legitimacy  of  the  Hanoverian 
succession.  At  William  Markham  s  unnatural  in- 
stigation he  had  been  harried  and  persecuted  into 
taking  the  odious  oath  which  was  prescribed  for 
suspected  recusants,  an  indignity  which  he  never 
forgave,  nor  would  he  afterwards  permit  his  tor- 
mentor's name  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence. 
Thus  these  brothers  became  totally  estranged,  no 
rare  occurrence  in   those   disjointed   times. 

So  strict  for  many  years  had  been  his  retirement 
from  the  busy  scenes  of  the  outer  world  that  Sir 
Edward  Markham  was  not  advised  of  the  quixotic 
undertaking  of  the  young  chevalier  until  it  burst 
upon  the  country  with  the  sudden  shock  of  an 
earthquake.  From  the  day  that  the  adventurous 
Prince  raised  the    roval    standard    of   his    fiither   at 


42  WOODCOUIIXE. 

Glenfjnnan  amid  the  loud  huzzas  of  the  dcTotc-d 
band,   wlio 

Wi'   Highland  bonnets   on  their  heads 
And  claymores  bright  and  clear, 

Had  come  to  fight  for  Scotland's  right 
And   the   yourg   chevalier, 

until,  like  a  brilliant  meteor  of  conquest  that  same 
standard  ^vaved  proudly  over  the  towers  of  Derby; 
rumor  upon  rumor  of  his  yictorious  prowess  and 
enthusiastic  reception  penetrated  the  hills  and 
echoed  along  the  valleys  of  Cumberland,  kindling  in 
the  old  knight's  breast  the  flame  of  ancient  lovalty 
and  causing  him  to  pray  with  redoubled  fervor 
that  God  would  be  pleased  to  give  the  rightful 
king  his  own  again.  In  his  own  person  he  had 
respected  the  obligations  of  the  oath  he  had  taken 
under  duress,  but  at  the  same  time  he  took  pains 
to  instill  into  his  nephew  a  deep  yeneration  for  the 
principles  which  had  been  the  sacred  heritage  of 
the  Markham's  from  the  blessed  period  of  the 
Restoration — with  v>hat  effect  was  soon  made  lament- 
ably  apparent. 

Young  Henry  Marldiam,  now  in  his  twentietli 
year  and  a  student  at  Oxford,  where  he  was  in 
no  danger  of  forgetting  his  early  Jacobite  proclivi- 
ties, took  it  into  his  head  one  fine  morning  that 
it'  was  his  imperative  duly  to  tender  fealty  and 
homage  to  ^•'hini  they  called  the  Pretender,"  and 
not  stopping  to  count  the  consequences  of  the  rash 
and  irrevocable  step,  escaped  the  vigilance  of  his 
tutelary  divinities  and  posted  away  for  the  chev- 
alier's camp.     He  reached  it  the   very   evening   that 


WOODBOURXE.  43 

Charles  Edward,  with  a  sad  presage  of  the  coming 
catastroplie,  reluctantly  yielded  to  the  determination 
of  his  council  of  war  and  gave  orders  for  the  fatal 
retreat.  The  scales  of  destiny  had  been  turned,  and 
the  feelings  of  the  infatuated  youth  when  his 
visions  of  another  grand  coronation  pageant  at  Lon- 
don yanished  in  the  air,  may  be  better  imagined 
than  described.  Thus,  in  an  eyil  hour,  had  Henry 
Markham  attached  liimself  to  a  falling  house  and 
was  buried  beneath  its  ruins.  Asfain  and  ao:ain 
has  the  inspired  pen  of  genius  celebrated  the 
romantic  story  of  that  one  brief  year  of  tumultuous 
life  in-  the  dreary  career  of  oyerweening  ambition, 
and  eyen  the  stern  Xemesis  of  impartial  history 
has  dealt  gently  and  compassionately  with  the 
chiyalrous  leader  of  that  wildest  of  forlorn  hopes. 
Sir  Edward  Markham  was  duly  apprised  of  his 
nephew's  elopement  from  Oxford  and  of  his  sub- 
sequent conduct;  but  as  he  was  neyer  heard  to 
utter  a  word  in  disapproval  of  the  insane  act,  cer- 
tain of  his  neighbors  were  uncharitable  enough  to 
charge  it  to  the  account  of  his  treasonable  instiga- 
tion. However  that  might  be,  it  was  soon  pain, 
fully  manifest  that  he  felt  a  vital  interest  in  the 
success  of  the  bold  adventurer,  since  in  so  short  a 
time  as  a  week  after  he  received  the  tidings  of 
the  overwhelming  disaster  at  Culloden  Muir  he 
went  broken-hearted  to  his  o^rave.  On  his  death 
AVilliam  Markham  took  possession  of  the  estates 
and  baronetcy,  and  instantly  began  to  signalize 
his  patriotic  zeal  afresh  by  the  conspicuous  part 
he  bore  in  wreaking  summary  vengeance  upon  the 
helpless   insurgents   who   had   escaped   the   butcheries 


44  WOODBOURXE. 

of  the  brutiil  Cumberland.  In  liim  the  bloody- 
minded  Hawley  and  the  hangman  Howard  found  a 
willing  and  able  coadjutor  in  the  congenial  work 
of  decorating  the  Rikargate  of  Carlisle  with  tlie 
hideous   mementoes   of  civil    strife. 

His  treatment  of  his  niece  was  in  perfect  keeping 
with  his  selfish  and  heartless  nature.  But  tlie  high- 
spirited  girl  did  not  long  endure  his  hateful  guar- 
dianship. She  fled  to  Scotland  and  placed  herself 
under  the  protection  of  her  mother's  powerful 
family,  most  of  wdiom  had  ,'early  given  in  their 
allegiance  to  the  reigning  sovereign.  Here  she  found 
a  secure  asylum  in  the  house  of  her  maternal 
aunt,  V\'ho  was  married  to  a  Hieland  Laird  named 
Leslie.  At  her  instance,  she  thenceforth  assumed 
her  mother's  name,  for  the  reason  that  the  one  she 
inherited  from  her  father  was  associated  with  the 
most  agonizing  reminiscences  of  bitter  griefs,  dis- 
appointed hopes  and  relentless  persecutions.  And 
it  was  here  that  John  Graeme,  junior  partner  of 
the  proud  commercial  house  whose  head  was  in 
Glasgow,  and  wdiose  members  strewed  the  Atlantic 
coast  from  Chesapeake  Bay  to  tlie  Spanish  main, 
came  all  the  Avay  from  Virginia  in  search  of  tlie 
noble   wife   to  whom   we   have   been   introduced. 


CHAPTER    lY. 


5IpPEXDED  to  Mrs.  Graeme's  letter  ^vas  a 
postscript  from  Lucy.  After  acrpTainting 
her  brother  with  such  items  of  current 
news  as  were  likely  to  interest  him,  she 
took  the  sisterly  liberty  of  giving  him  some  season- 
able advice  on  a  delicate  topic — videlicet,  that  the 
sooner  he  threw  that  luckless  passion  for  a  certain 
young  lady  overboard  the  better  it  would  be  for  his 
l>eace  of  mind  and  prospects  in  life.  To  this  subject 
Sirs.  Graeme  had  made  no  allusion,  rightly  conjectur- 
ins:  that  Georo^e  would  find  so  much  of  new  and 
startling  moment  in  her  own  memoirs  as  to  banish 
for  the  time  every  other  consideration  from  his 
thoucrhts.  Waivinsr  his  sister's  missive  aside  with  a 
suppressed  sigh,  the  young  man  turned  again  to 
his  mother's  letter,  which  he  read  and  re-read  with 
the  deepest  emotion.  It  was  no  longer  surprising 
to  him  that  she  should  be  so  much  alarmed  at 
the  imminence  of  civil  war,  and  should  implore 
him  to  stay  where  he  was  until  the  advent  of 
better  times.  It  has  been  well  remarked  that  in 
seasons  of  revolution  it  is  often  more  difficult  to 
decide   what   is   one's    duty,   than    to    do   it   when   it 

(45) 


46  WOODBOURXE. 

has  once  been  determined.  So  it  fared  witli  our 
young  Virginian.  Heretofore  his  mother's  lightest 
wish  had  been  to  him  in  tlie  nature  of  a  positive 
cojnmand.  In  the  present  instance,  it  is  true,  there 
was  no  peremptory  mandate,  only  affectionate  en- 
treaty; yet  he  felt  how  devoutly  her  heart  was  in 
the  matter,  and  how  sorely  grieved  she  would  be 
if  he  did  not  do  as  she  desired.  But,  as  has  been 
intimated,  he  fully  sympathized  with  his  country- 
men in  America,  and  deemed  it  to  be  incumbent 
upon  him  to  take  a  part  in  the  impending  struggle. 
In  this  dilemma  he  sat  for  some  time  immersed 
in  anxious  thought.  At  length  he  arose,  and  rev- 
erently folding  up  the  interesting  document,  locked 
it  away  carefully  in  his  desk.  Then,  having  arranged 
his   dress,   he   went   out. 

As  he  was  passing  through  the  college  grounds, 
still  pondering  intently  on  what  he  had  been  reading, 
he  was  suddenly  accosted  with  the  question,  "Going 
into   the   city,   young   gentleman  ? " 

Looking  up  he  found  himself  confronted  with  a 
person  in  a  clerical  garb,  who  was  scanning  him 
critically  through  a  pair  of  piercing  grey  eyes  that 
peered  out  from  beneath  the  shaggiest  of  brows. 
The  latter  were  as  black  as  raven's  down,  though 
his  head  was  as  white  as  snow.  His  manner  was 
abrupt,  not  to  say  dictatorial,  as  George  thought, 
yet  he  replied  with  a  respectful  salutation,  "  Yes, 
sir." 

"Then,  perchance,  you  can  show  me  the  way  to 
Mr.  William  Hamilton's  abode— of  the  mercantile 
house   of  Hamilton   &   Osborn,"   said   the   gentleman. 

"With  pleasure,  sir,"  replied  George;  "it  lies 
directly   in  my  route." 


^'OODBOUEXE.  47 

"Yon,  if  I  mistake  not,  are  the  Virginian  student 
of  whom  I  have  heard,"  continued  the  stranger  in 
the  same  blunt,  positive  tone,  as  they  walked  on 
together.  "I  have  friends  over  there  of  whom  I 
am  anxious   to  get   tidings." 

George. — ''I  know  most  families  of  Scottish  people 
in  Virginia,  sir;  may  I  inquire  who  are  your 
friends  ? "' 

iStranger. — '-Are  you  acquainted  with  the  Wis- 
harts?" 

George. — '"Intimately  well;  they  are  my  near  rela- 
tions." 

Stranger. — "  You   are   not   a   Wishart  ?  " 

George. — ''Xo,  sir;  my  name  is  George  Wishart 
Graeme,  after  an  old  schoolfellow  of  my  father,  a 
fomous  preacher  in  Edinburgh,  as  I  have  been 
told,  though  I  prefer  to  think  it  was  after  the 
illustrious   mai'tyr   of    the   Free    Kirk    of  Scotland." 

Stranger. — "And  you  are  a  son  of  John  Graeme  ? 
Xot  like  him;  resemble  your  mother.  She  was  a 
Campbell,   I    belieye?" 

George  (vrith  slight  embarrassment). — "Her  name 
was  Ellen  Campbell  when   she  married." 

Stranger. — ''Had  she  eyer  another    name?" 

George. — "Xot  meaning  to  giye  you  a  short  an- 
swer, sir,  I  do  not  think  my  family  affairs  are  a 
lit  subject  of  conyersation   with   a  stranger." 

Stranger. — "'Very  right;  but  I  happen  to  know 
much  more  than  you  think  of  you  and  yours.  It 
is  truly  a  sad  story;  one  of  the  many  of  that 
wicked  rebellion.  And  now  there  is  another  brewing 
in  America.  I  am  growing  yery  uneasy  about  my 
friends   there.     Are  your  countrymen    all   demented  ? 


48  WOODBOUEXE. 

Can  tliey  dare  to  cope  with  the  most  joowerful 
nation  in  the  workl — tuey  a  mere  handful  of  people 
scattered  over   a   boundless  regi(5^i  of  savage  wilds?" 

George  (with  spirit). — "They  have  been  forced  to 
take  np  arms  in  defence  of  their  dearest  rights  as 
British  subjects.  Their  cause  is  just  before  that 
Being  who  has  said  the  race  is  not  always  to  the 
SAvift  nor  the  battle   to   the   strong." 

Stranger  (with  sudden  and  deep  feeling). — "Do 
yon  know  what  war  is,  young  man  ?  I  have  seen 
it  in  all  its  horrors — unscrupulous,  relentless,  all- 
devouring  Moloch.  It  foments  all  evil,  is  allied  to 
all  vices  and  deformities;  it  riots  in  brute  strength 
and  glories  in  destroying  power;  it  raises  the 
wicked  and  profime  to  eminence,  makes  a  pande- 
monium of  the  earth,  and  drags  its  triumphal  car 
over  the  venerated  relics  of  ages.  It  spares  neither 
age  iior  sex ;  makes  slaves  of  the  weak  and  help- 
less; its  progress  is  marked  in  blood;  it  fills  the 
world  Avith  imprecations,  misery,  'wretchedness  and 
despair.  Of  all  its  gliastly  forms,  civil  strife  is 
the  most  abhorrent.  Smollett's  picture  is  not  over- 
Avrought,   as   I   can   testify." 

George. — "It  is  indeed,  sir,  a  fearful  thing  to 
contemplate ;  but  the  responsibility  rests  not  with 
my  countrymen.  Very  different  Avas  your  oAvn  case. 
What  Avere  you  contending  for  ? — a  choice  betAveen 
tAA'o — "   he  paused. 

"Tyrants  you  Avere  going  to  say,"  replied  the 
gentleman  Avith  a  kindly  smile.  "You  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  me;  but  bcAA'are  hoAv  you  let  that  liot 
blood  of  yours  boil  OA'er  in  this  city  of  trusty 
liegemen.      "Well,     Avell,     perhaps     your     countrymen 


WOODBOUIINE.  49 

know  best  Avhat  tlicir  duty  requires  of  them — the 
issue  is  Avith  the  All-Avise  One.  Can  you  tell  me 
anything  of  one  Davies,  a  Presbyterian  minister, 
president   of  a   college   in   America?" 

"I  have  often  heard  of  him,  sir,"  replied  George; 
'*'he   has   been   dead   many   years." 

The  stranger  received  the  announcement  with 
evident  concern.  ''He  was  truly  a  good  man  and 
an  eloquent  preacher.  I  met  with  him  on  his  visit 
to  Scotland,  soliciting  funds  for  his  seminary.  His 
health  vras  then  exceeding  precarious.  I  remember 
how  much  tickled  he  was  at  AVitherspoon's  hit  at 
the  highflyers  under  the  ironical  designation  of 
moderates,  apropos  of  which  I  told  him  a  pleasant 
anecdote  of  an  old  covenanting  preacher  who  once 
said  to  his  congregation:  'My  friends,  it  is  as  im- 
possible for  a  moderate  to  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  as  it  is  for  a  sow  to  sit  upon  the  top  of 
a  thistle   and   sing   like   a  mavis.'" 

George  laughed.  "That's  Mr.  Hamilton's  at  the 
opposite   corner." 

"Are   you  not   going   thither  ?  '' 

"Xo,  sir;   my  destination  is  some  squares  fiirther." 

They  parted  company.  The  gentleman  had  not 
thought  proper  to  tell  his  name,  and  George  made 
it  a  point  of  politeness  not  to  ask  him  for  it  A 
short  walk  brought  him  in  front  of  a  large  and 
handsome  residence.  He  rang  the  bell,  and  inquired 
of  the  servant  who  answered  it  if  Mr.  Ballantyne 
was  at  home.  "  He  was  at  that  moment  gone  to 
Mr.  Halnilton's,"  was  the  reply.  Thither  young 
Graeme   followed   him. 

"  Here   he    is    in    the    nick    of    time,''    exclaimed 

5 


50  WOODBOUK^'E. 

Mr.  Hamilton,  as  George  was  ushered  into  a  room 
where  a  score  of  persons  were  assembled,  eager  to 
hear  the  news  which  the  ship  just  arrived  at  the 
Broomilaw   had   brought   across   the   ocean. 

"  Pardon  nie,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  he,  '^  I  wish 
to  speak  with  3Ir.  Ballantyne  on  pressing  private 
business.*' 

'•'Xo  need  to  apologize,  lad;  I  was  on  the  eve 
of  sending  for  you,"  replied  the  kind  old  merchant. 
"I  wish  to  have  a  word  with  you  myself  presently 
on  a  matter  of  business.  But  first  let  me  make 
you  known  to  an  old  friend  of  your  family,  and  a 
fur  awa'  cousin,  I  believe,"  turning  to  the  stranger, 
who   was   standing  at   his   side. 

"TTe  have  met  before,"  said  the  gentleman,  very 
much  amused  at  George's  embarrassment,  as  he 
took  him  cordially  by  the  hand.  ^^I  am  the  name- 
sake of  whom  you  are  nowise  proud,  young  gen- 
tleman. Your  head  is  running  on  martyrs,  eh? 
What  say  you,  friend  Hamilton,  after  that  morti- 
fying speech  can  I,  in  self-respect,  recognize  him 
as   a  kinsman  ?  *' 

""W^hat  has  the  lad  been  saying?''  replied  Mr. 
Hamilion ;    "  nothing   indiscreet,    I'll   warrant." 

Mr.  Wishart  explained  the  point  of  the  joke. 
There  was  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  young  Virginian's 
expense,  which  he  took  in  very  good  part.  Then 
the  conversation,  which  had  been  interrupted  by 
his  entrance,  was  resumed.  It  turned  upon  the 
one  all-engrossing  topic,  the  threatened  rupture 
with  the  colonies.  To  most  of  the  company  the 
event  was  beyond  measure  deplorable.  It  foreboded 
incalculable   detriment,   if  not   ruin,  to   the   lucrative 


■NVOODBOURyE.  51 

trade  in  wliicli  so  large  a  portion  of  their  capital 
was  embarked.  The  fact  is  well  known  that  at 
this  time  the  Scotch  were  beginning  to  make  rapid 
strides  on  the  road  to  commercial  prosperity  and 
material  opulence.  But  their  operations  were  Avell 
nigh  restricted  to  the  American  provinces  and  the 
West  India  Islands.  The  English,  on  the  con- 
trary, roamed  where  they  listed,  and,  particularly, 
had  a  monopoly  of  the  fabulously  rich  products  of 
those  regions  where  "  the  gorgeous  East  showered 
on  her  kings  barbaric,  pearls  and  gold."  Unexam. 
pled  wealth  attended  their  respective  enterprises; 
yet  in  one  respect  the  difference  was  notably  in 
favor  of  the  hardy  and  persevering  Scot;  his  accu- 
mulations w^ere  all  the  legitimate  profits  of  mer- 
cantile acumen,  industry  and  thrift,  never  the  ill- 
gotten  fruits  of  wholesale  robbery  and  extortion,  as 
was  too  often  the  case  with  the  x\nglo-Indian  ad- 
venturer. But  what  matters  it  how  nations  grow 
rich  and  powerful!  TJiuIg  liahet  quaerct  nemo,  seel 
oporltt  liabere.  Still  it  is  curious  to  mark  how 
splendidly  the  good  old  rule  of  Eobin  Hood  was 
Avorked  out  by  Robert  Clive  on  the  banks  of  the 
sacred  river  in  spite  of  the  prayers  of  Imaum  and 
Brahmin,  and  what  a  nice  distinction  is  sometimes 
taken  by  learned  casuists  between  the  natural 
gratification  of  freebooting  propensities  and  the 
wholesome  severities,  the  merciful  chastisements  and 
righteous  exactions  which  have  accompanied  every 
effort  to  make  the  rest  of  mankind  acquainted 
with  the  blessings  of  European  civilization.  Of 
course  all  is  done  out  of  pure  charity  for  the 
heathen.     There   is   no   such    thing    among   Christian 


52  WOODBOURNE. 

people  as  the  aiiri  sacra  fames!  But  ^ve  are  grow- 
ing  satirical,   which   decidedly   is   not  our   cue. 

"Well,  well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  good-humored 
host,  w^hen  he  thought  the  debate  was  becoming 
monotonous,  "there  appears  to  be  no  change  for 
the  better  in  the  posture  of  affairs  abroad.  We 
can  do  nothiug  but  possess  our  souls  in  patience. 
Since  our  views  are  widely  at  variance,  and  as 
none  of  ns  exactly  agree  in  opinion  with  our  young 
friend  here,  suppose  we  drop  the  subject.  I  had  a 
most  unexpected  visitor  this  morning.  I'll  wager 
none   of  you   can   tell   Avho   he   was." 

"Did  he  come  in  the  vessel?"  asked  Mr.  Ballan- 
tyne. 

"No;  but  he  was  very  curious  concerning  the 
movements  of  another  vessel,  the  Katrine,  and  par- 
ticularly desired  to  obtain  all  the  information  I 
could  give  him  about  the  master  of  our  bark.  I 
readily  told  him  all  I  knew  of  the  party  in  ques- 
tion which,  though  precious  little,  was,  as  far  as 
it  went,   to   his   credit." 

"But  you  have  not  told  us  who  this  inrpusitive 
person  was,"   said    Mr.   Ballantyne. 

"He  is  well  known  to  the  present  company  by 
fame  at  least,"  replied  ]\[r.  Hamilton;  "my  visitor 
was  no  less  a  personage  than  Sir  AVilliam  Mark- 
ham." 

"Sir  William  Markham!"  exclaimed  Geo.  Graeme, 
involuntarily;   "is   he   here   in   the   city?" 

Mr.  Hamilton  shook  his  head.  "  He  came  at  a 
late  hour  last  night,  and  left  immediately  after  our 
interview  post-haste  for  London.  Xo  one  knew  of 
his   coming   or   going   but   myself.'' 


WOODBOURNE.  53 

"Very  mysterious,"  said  Mr.  Ballantyne ;  "I  hope 
he  did  not  intimate  that  there  Avas  anything  ^vrollg 
about  Dent." 

"On  the  contrary  he  was  evidently  well  gratified 
by  the  account  I  gave  him  of  the  skipper,"  re- 
plied  i\Ir.    Hamilton. 

"AVhat  sort  of  a  person  did  he  appear  to  be, 
sir?"  George  ventured  to  ask  in  a  somewhat  licsi- 
tating  voice. 

"You  mean  Sir  William,  lad?  A  grand  man,  a 
very   grand   man." 

This  emphatic  encomium  was  addressed  to  the 
whole   company. 

"He  stands  well  in  Parliament,"  said  Mr.  Wis- 
hart,  who  had  not  failed  to  perceive  how  greatly 
interested  the  Virginian  was  in  the  English  baro- 
net. "Hamilton,  if  these  gentlemen  will  excuse  us, 
my  young  kinsman  and  I  will  have  a  word  together 
ill   private." 

No  one  objecting  to  so  reasonable  a  request, 
they  were  shown  to  a  separate  room,  where  we  must 
take  the  liberty  of  turning  the  lock  on  them  for 
the   present. 


CHAPTER   Y. 


HE  grey 
out  on   a 
woodland, 
undulatino" 
obviously 


towers  of  Markhani  Castle  looked 

varied  expanse  of  mountain  and 

intersected    here    and    there    by 

^  plains  and  fertile  valleys.    The 

been    selected    with   an    eve    to 


site    had 

military  defence  in  the  days  when  every  man's  hand 
was  against  his  neighbor;  when  the  chivalrous 
custom  prevailed  of  taking  all  you  could  and  hold- 
ing  fast    to    what    you    took    by    might    and    main, 


of  the  Marches   found 
office    of    custodian   of 

and. 

that 


and  when  my  Lord  AVarden 
no  bed  of  roses  in  his  high 
the  King's  peace  in  that  debatable  border 
It  stood  upon  the  edge  of  a  batting  cliff 
jutted  into  a  small  lake,  which  was  fed  by  two 
bold  streams,  the  natural  boundaries  on  either  side 
of  the  broad  ancestral  domain.  Immediately  ad- 
joining it  was  a  table-land  of  a  few  acres ;  then 
came  the  sloping  lawn  carpeted  with  a  brilliant 
green  sward,  beyond  which  stretched  the  vast  varie- 
gated park,  and  leaving  that  one  emerged  upon  a 
bleak,  brown  ami  barren  tract,  the  home  of  the 
red  deer,  the  fox  and  the  badger.  The  general 
aspect    of    the    scenery    was    Avild,    picturesque    and 

(54) 


WOODBOURXE.  55 

roimintic;  yet  the  adjiicent  grounds  displayed  evi- 
dences of  the  tasteful  hand  of  improved  cultivation. 
On  one  side  a  large  portion  of  tlie  lawn  had  been 
converted  into  a  beautiful  flower  garden  and  a 
plantation  of  rare  trees  a!ul  shrubs,  and  was  artis- 
tically laid  out  in  neat  and  trim  parterres,  walks 
and  avenues.  At  the  end  of  the  principal  garden 
walk,  on  the  margin  of  the  lake,  stood  a  small 
pavilion  or  summer-house,  overrun  with  clambering 
vines  of  the  honeysuckle,  clamatis  and  woodbine. 
From  this  point  the  view  was  surpassingly  grand. 
Looking  across  the  glassy  lake  one  could  see  tlie 
majestic  Solway  sweeping  on  to  the  main,  and 
farther  still  the  eye  could  discern  the  long  line  of 
sea-coast  where  the  numerous  sails  were  passing 
and  repassing  in  endless  processions.  On  the  right 
hand  a  clear  sparkling  rivulet,  flashing  in  sunny 
glances  through  the  forest  glades,  came  dancing'  to 
the  merry  music  of  a  myriad  cascades  down  from 
its  pearly  cavern  in  the  encircling  mountains,  over 
which  domineered  the  haughty  crests  of  &kiddaw 
and   Glaramara. 

This  summer-house  was  a  favorite  seat  of  Lady 
Markham  in  her  morning  and  evening  walks.  It 
was  the  crowning  feature  of  the  little  domestic 
paradise  which  the  hand  of  affection  had  prepared 
for  her  especial  delight  in  the  midst  of  those  rough 
scenes  of  untamed  nature ;  lovely  to  look  upon  at 
all  seasons  of  the  year,  but  most  attractive  Avhen 
arrayed   in   the   gorgeous    apparel    of    summer — when 

I 'is  there  with  liumid  bow 
AV^aters  the  odorous  banks,   that  blow 
Flowers  of  every  mingled  hue 
Than  her  pmtl'd  scarf  can  show. 


56  WOODBOURXE. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  clay  in  the  early  part 
of  October  of  the  present  year.  Lady  Markham 
was  busy  in  the  garden  giving  directions  for  the 
protection  of  the  plants  from  the  nipping  frosts 
which  would  be  soon  at  fiand.  Presently  her  little 
dauo^hter  came  runnins^  to  her  in  breathless  easfer- 
ness  from  the  summer-house,  saying  there  was  a 
boat  on  tlie  lake  with  tv/o  boys  in  it,  and  a  gen- 
tleman on  the  other  shore  was  calling  to  them  to 
come  back  and  throwing  his  arms  about  as  if  in 
great  distress.  She  hastened  to  the  spot.  The  boat 
was  just  passing,  running  before  the  wind  which 
was  blowing  freshly,  and  the  juvenile  sailors,  in 
the  wildest  glee,  were  enjoying  the  sport  hugely 
and  laughing  and  jeering  at  the  outre  figure  of 
their  disconsolate  tutor  across  the  lake,  whose  vigi- 
lance they  had  outwitted.  They  waved  their  hats 
gallantly  to  the  lady  as  they  glided  swiftly  by, 
and,  heedless  of  her  warning  gesture,  when  they 
had  gone  a  short  distance  farther  attempted  to  go 
about.  In  doing  so,  owing  to  unskillful  handling, 
the  sail  gibed  with  sudden  violence,  and  in  a 
twinkling  the  light  cockle-shell  of  a  craft  was 
floating  keel  upwards,  and  the  luckless  urchins 
were  struggling  for  life  in  the  water  a  hundred 
yards  from  shore.  Fortunately,  relief  was  near  at 
hand,  and  they  were  saved  from  the  watery  grave 
their  recklessness  seemed  to  covet.  One  of  the 
game-keepers  chanced  to  be  passing  at  the  critical 
moment.  He  came  to  their  rescue  in  a  boat,  and 
conveyed  them  to  the  lodge.  Thither  Lady  Mark- 
ham  hurried  by  a  path  through  the  grounds.  She 
was   greatly   relieved    to    find  that    the    little   adven. 


wooDBOurixE.  57 

tnrers  had  received  no  other  mishap  than  a  good 
wholesome  ducking,  Avhich  they  richly  deserved  for 
their  disobedience  and  temerity.  They  had  been 
put  to  bed  by  the  porter's  wife  while  their  clothes 
were  drying.  From  her  Lady  Markham  learned 
that  they  were  children  of  ]\Ir.  Asburtc.i,  whose 
residence  conld  be  seen  on  the  opposite  bank  of 
the  lake.  She  gave  orders  for  them  to  be  brought 
to  the  castle,  and  was  leaving  the  lodge  when  she 
encountered  at  the  door  a  stranger,  a  tall,  da?:k 
man  of  a  grave  and  rather  ceremonious  demeanor, 
lie  sainted  her  with  respectful  conrtesy,  although 
there  was  something  of  embarrassment  in  his 
manner. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  address  Lady  Markham,  if 
I  mistake  not,"  said  he.  'Oly  name  is  Asburton. 
I  shonld  not  have  intruded  here,  I  beg  your  lady- 
ship to  believe,  had  it  not  been  for  the  accident 
to  my  boys,  of  which  I  was  a  moment  ago  apprised 
by  their  tutor.  Permit  mc  to  tender  my  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  your  kindness,  and  to  express 
the  wish  that  you  Avill  convey  to  Sir  William  my 
unfeigned  regret   for   what  has   happened." 

"There  is  no  cause  for  regret  nor  any  occasion 
for  explanation  or  apology  on  your  part,  Mr. 
Asburton,"  interrupted  Lady  Markham;  "the  little 
fellows  are  none  the  worse  for  the  accident,  and 
for  myself  I  esteem  it  a  fortunate  event  which 
makes  known  to  me  a  gentleman  of  whom  I  have 
frequently  heard  my  husband  speak  in  terms  of 
sincere  respect  and.  consideration." 

The  strange  visitor  received  this  gracious  declara- 
tion with  marked  suri)rise  and  increased  embarrass- 
ment. 


58  WOODBOUEi^E. 

"Pardon  me,  your  ladysliip,"  said  he,  bowing 
low;  "am  I  to  believe, — but,  no;  it  cannot  be  pos- 
sible that  you  are  ignorant  of  the  relations  which 
have  for  a  long  time  subsisted  between  Sir  William 
Markham  and  myself?" 

"I  assure  you,  sir,"  replied  Lady  Markham  with 
dignity,  "that  I  have  yet  to  hear  the 'first  unkind 
word  towards  you  from  Sir  William's  lips.  It  is 
not  his  fault  that  your  intercourse  has  not  been 
more   cordial."' 

Mr.  Asburton  was  visibly  abashed  and  discon- 
certed. The  lady  was  completely  at  a  loss  how  to 
interpret  his  unaccountable   deportment. 

"  Come,  sir,"  she  continued ;  "  my  Avord  for  it, 
you  have  been  deceived.  Sir  William,  I  am  pain- 
fully aware,   has   enemies — " 

"  Of  ■which  number,  may  it  please  your  ladyship,'* 
hastily  interrupted  Mr.  Asburton,  "  I  am  not,  nor 
ever  have  been.  On  the  contrary,  Sir  AVilliam  has 
had  my  warmest  sympathy  in  the  trying  ordeal 
through  which  it  has  been  his  lot  to  i^ass.  By 
the  faith  I  profess,  i  freely  and  frankly  accept  the 
assurance  you  have  given  me  of  his  good  will,  and 
beg  you  will  say  as  much  to  him.  In  addition,  I 
have  to  request  that  you  v,'ill  deliver  this  letter 
into  his   hands." 

With  which  words  he  drew  from  his  breast  a 
sealed  packet,  and  extended  it  to  Lady  Markham. 
It  was   her  turn  to   be   surprised. 

"From  yourself,   Mr.  Asburton?"   she  inquired. 
.     "No,  my   lady;   I   received   it   this   morning  under 
cover   from   Glasgow,  and  was  in   the  act  of  sending 
it  to   the   Castle   by   a   servant  when  this   alarm   was 
raised.*' 


WOODBOUKXE.  59 

"The  handwriting  is  not  familiar/'  said  the  lady 
musingly,  as  she  examined  closely  the  superscrip- 
tion;  ''you   know  tlie   writer,   of   course." 

The  grave  gentleman  could  not  forbear  smiling 
to  see   how   her   womanly   curiosity  was   piqued. 

"Intimately  well,  your  ladyship,"'  he  replied; 
"we  are  near  of  kin;  yet  no  two  people  could 
have  led   more   different   lives." 

"'  In  what  respect,  pray  ?  Has  this  person's  been 
a  very  bad  life?" 

"A  very  sad  one,  my  lady,*'  said  Mr.  Asburton, 
seriously;   "would   you   like  to   hear   the   story?" 

"  By  "  all  means,"  responded  Lady  Markham, 
eagerlv.  "Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  Asburton,"  leading 
the  way  as  she  spoke  to  a  bench  under  a  neigh- 
boring tree,  and  setting  him  the  example.  The 
gentleman's  manner  had  undergone  a  decided  altera- 
tion. Although  still  precise  and  formal,  it  was  no 
longer  distant  and  reserved.  Evidently  he  was 
nothing  loth  to  gratify  the  lady's  desire.  After  a 
pause,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  collecting  his 
thoughts,   he   proceeded. 

"With  your  ladyship's  permission  I  will  begin 
with  a  short  account  of  myself;  albeit  there  is 
naught  of  especial  interest  in  my  uneventful  career 
farther  than  it  is  connected  with  the  writer  of 
that  letter.  In  early  infancy,  by  the  death  of  both 
parents,  I  was  left  an  orphan  to  the  care  of  a 
paternal  aunt,  Avho  lived  not  many  miles  distant 
from  the  town  of  AVhitehaven.  It  was  my  father's 
latest  injunction  that  I  should  be  reared  in  the 
fiiith  in  which  he  lived  and  died,  and,  accordingly, 
I  was  sent  abroad   to    the   college    at    St.   Omer,   in 


60  WOODEOUrvXE. 

comj^any  with  the  priest  who  had  been  my  father's 
chaplain.  Here  I  led  a  life  of  strict  seclusion,  and 
was  kept  in  profound  ignorance  of  what  was  taking 
place  in  the  political  world.  Three  years  had 
passed,  when  one  day  I  was  surprised  by  a  yisit 
from  my  uncle.  From  him  I  learned  for  the  first 
time  of  the  ill-advised  expedition  of  Prince  Charles 
Edward.  He  was  in  it  and  had  shared  the  fate 
of  his  leader,  narrowly  escaping  with  his  life.  He 
was  a  man  of  an  ardent  and  impetuous  temper 
apt  to  be  hurried  by  his  feelings  into  such  a  rash 
enterprise.  Too  late  he  discovered  his  mistake.  He 
was  now  all  anxiety  about  his  family,  and  nothinsf 
would  satisfy  him  but  that  Father  Eustace  (such 
was  the  name  of  my  tutor)  should  go  at  once  to 
England  for  news  of  them.  In  a  little  Avhile  he 
returned;  but  the  report  he  brought  only  increased 
my  uncle's  uneasiness  of  mind.  He  resolved  to  re- 
turn home  at  every  risk,  nor  could  the  remon- 
strances and  entreaties  of  Father  Eustace  dissuade 
him  from  his  desperate  purpose.  He  consented, 
however,  to  disguise  himself  in  the  semblance  of 
the  good  priest.  In  this  Avay  he  managed  for  some 
time  to  elude  detection.  At  length  his  secret  was 
made  known  to  the  authorities  through  the  treachery 
of  a  trusted  servant.  He  was  pursued  and  taken 
prisoner,  after  a  fierce  resistance,  in  which  he  was 
abetted  by  his   son,   a  lad  of  fifteen.'' 

"Something  of  this  I  have  surely  heard  before," 
exclaimed  Lady  Markham  hastily,  interrupting  the 
narrator ;   "  the   gentleman's   name   was — ■" 

"  Francis  Delmay,''  said  Mr.  Asburton,  seeing  her 
hesitate. 


WOODBOURNE.  61 

"All,  I  remember;  he  Avas  among  the  number — '' 
again   she  paused. 

*MVho  were  murdered  in  the  name  of  justice," 
said   Mr.   Asburton,   with  deep   and  bitter   feeling. 

The  lady  vainly  strove  to  prevent  a  shudder  as 
she  averted  her  gaze  from  his.  '*And  the  boy; 
what  became  of  the  brave  boy?"  she  asked,  in  low 
and  tremulous  accents. 

"In  the  melee,"  replied  Mr.  Asburton,  "a  man 
was  killed— the  same  wretch  Avho  had  sold  his  mas- 
ter's life  for  a  price.  Suspicion  pointed  to  the 
son  as  the  avenger,  whether  truly  or  not,  I  am 
unable  to  tell.  A  reward  was  offered  for  his  arrest. 
Nevertheless  he  made  good  his  escape  from  the 
country,  and  found  a  secure  retreat  from  hie 
enemies.  Of  his  subsequent  history  one  person  alone 
is  fully  cognizant — his  mother.  I  only  know  for 
certain  that  he  yet  lives,  and  has  made  me  the 
medium  of  communication  with  Sir  William  Mark- 
ham,   for  what   purpose    that    letter    must    explain." 

"  Then  you  cannot  give  me  a  hint  of  its  con- 
tents?" said  Lady  Markham,  whose  features,  in 
spite  of  her  efforts  to  conceal  it,  showed  a  faint 
shade  of  disappointment. 

"I  have  imparted  to  your  ladyship  everything  I 
know  on  the  subject,"  replied  Mr.  Asburton,  rising 
as  he  spoke.  "I  regret  that  the  information  is  so 
meagre.  Permit  me  now  to  take  my  leave  of  you, 
as  I  see  my  little  runaways  are  in  readiness  to  go." 
Regaining  her  wonted  manner,  in  which  gentle- 
ness and  dignity  were  so  happily  blended.  Lady 
Markham  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  extending  her 
hand    to    hei    visitor,   "Good    bye,    Mr.    Asburton," 


63  AVOODBOURNE. 

said  she;  *'now  that  the  ice  is  broken,  I  hope  to 
see  you  often  at  the   Castle." 

"Your  ladyship  is  very  kiud,"  responded  the 
gentleman  with  emotion,  and  making  a  profound 
obeisance,  he  turned  and  followed  his  little  charges, 
who  had  already  taken  their  places   in  the  boat. 

Lady  Markham  stood  looking  after  them  until 
they  were  out  of  view,  when  she  slowly,  in  medi- 
tative mood,  retraced  her  steps  towards  the  Castle. 
On  the  way  a  servant  accosted  her.  "Sir  AYilliam 
has  returned,   my  lady,"  said  he. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  eagerly  asked,  her  eloquent 
features  radiant  with  joyous    surprise. 

"  In  tlie   library,    my   lady,"   replied   the   man. 

She  hastened  forward,  and  next  moment  was 
clasped   in   her   husband's   arms. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


HE  older  Sir  AVilliam  Maridiam  held  the 
theory  of  Lord  Chesterfield  tliat  you  may 
train  a  youth  of  average  capabilities  into 
any  kind  of  a  man  you  desire,  and  his 
ideal  of  perfect  manhood  agreed  in  the  main  ^vith 
that  of  his  celebrated  exemplar  and  archetype.  Tims 
he  tried  the  experiment  fully  on  his  oldest  son  and 
heir,  who,  bearing  the  same  name,  was  as  a  matter 
of  course,  entitled  to  the  virtues  of  his  incompara- 
ble parent.  The  way  did  not  suit  the  boy,  and  ho 
sulked  and  rebelled  at  every  step.  The  more 
inflexibly  harsh  the  paternal  discipline,  the  more 
stubborn  was  tlie  resistance;  Greek  had  met  Creek, 
and    the    tug   of   war    came    when   the    young    man, 


having     finished     his     course     at 


Cambridge,    went 


take     his    degrees     in    fashion- 


up  to  London  to 
able  society.  He  had  no  notion  of  becoming  :i 
fine  gentleman  after  the  Chesterfieldean  pattern. 
He  loathed  that  career  which  was  mapped  out  for 
him  on  his  father's  chart,  and  heartily  despised  the 
company  he  was  forced  to  keep  in  that  limbo  of 
folly,  where  genius  and  talent  played  hypocrite  and 
sycophant,     and    everything    was     hollow     decei)tion, 


64  WOODBOUEXE. 

sham  pretence  and  abandoned  profiigaej.  Towards 
this  depraved  microcosm,  '•'  the  west  or  worst  end  of 
the  city,"  his  bearing  was  invariably  haughty  and 
disdainful ;  no  arts  of  Hattery  or  persuasion  could 
induce  him  to  mingle  in  its  ignoble  pursuits. 
Subjected  to  this  insufferable  tyranny,  Avith  no 
opportunities  or  means  of  indulging  the  natural 
sympathies  of  his  heart,  he  was  fast  growing  to  be 
morose  and  cynical,  and  doubtless  had  Tie  been 
condemned  to  breathe  the  same  atmosphere  indefi- 
nitely, he  would  have  become  in  time  a  confirmed 
misanthrope.  There  was  one  bright  and  blooming 
spot  in  the  blackened  waste  of  his  frustrated  inclina- 
tions. While  at  college  he  had  contracted  a  well- 
placed  attachment  for  the  amiable  and  accomplished 
daughter  of  a  poor  clergyman,  resident  in  a  neigh- 
boring parish,  and  his  love,  though  nourished  in 
secret,  was  the  silver  lining  of  the  cloud  which 
overhung  the   sky  of  his   youthful   hopes. 

In  the  midst  of  the  unnatural  contention  his 
father  died,  and  as  soon  as  the  last  note  of  the 
Miserere  was  chanted,  and  before  the  funereal  hatch- 
ments were  dry,  he  posted  down  to  Cambridgeshire 
for  his  bride  and  conducted  her  to  Markham 
Castle.  Here  the  sins  of  his  father  were  visited 
heavily  upon  him.  The  neighboring  gentry  liad 
not  forojottcn  the  harrowinsf  scenes  which  followed 
the  outbreak  of  '45, — scenes  in  which  the  late 
baronet  had  borne  a  conspicuously  hateful  i)art. 
It  Avas,  therefore,  not  surprising  that  his  son  should 
meet  with  a  cold  reception  from  them,  and  should 
become  the  mark  of  studied  incivilties.  On  every 
hand   his   overtures    of    reconciliation    were    repulsed 


WOODBOURXE.  65 

witli  rudeness  and  contumely;  his  motives  aspersed; 
his  sincerity  impugned.  This  treatment  was  suffi- 
ciently galling  to  his  pride,  and  a  man  of  less 
resolute  spirit  would  have  abandoned  the  struggle 
in  despair,  withdrawn  from  society  aud  shut  him- 
self up  in  scornful  seclusion.  But  the  present  Sir 
AVilliam  Markham  was  in  essential  traits  the  exact 
antithesis  of  his  father.  Possessed  of  great  force 
and  decision  of  character,  he  was '  at  the  same  time 
large-hearted,  open-handed,  brave  and  generous.  His 
early  training  and  subsequent  experience  of  life, 
had  not  to  any  extent  exacerbated  his  temper  or 
acidulated  the  natural  kindliness  of  his  disposition. 
Sprung  from  a  proud-spirited  race,  he  was  ever 
prompt  to  resent  the  slightest  intentional  affront  to 
his  dignity  and  social  rank.  But  while  he  uni- 
formly exacted  from  his  equals  the  full  amount  of 
deference,  courtesy  and  respect  which  belonged  to 
his  station,  his  intercouse  with  the  lower  orders  was 
particularly  distinguished  for  its  unaffected  frank- 
ness, graceful  urbauity  and  engaging  affiibility.  At 
heart,  he  keenly  realized  the  intense  bitterness  of 
feeling  against  his  father  among  all  classes  of  his 
neighbors,  and  was  moreover  painfully  convinced  of 
the  justice  of  the  general  yerdict  upon  his  conduct. 
The  effect  of  this  consciousness  was  to  stimulate 
his  exertions  to  obliterate  the  memory  of  those 
atrocious  persecutions  and  to  reinstate  his  house  in 
the  old  time  regard  of  the  community.  It  was  a 
difficult  and  delicate  undertaking,  whicli  required 
for  its  accomplishment  a  rare  combination  of  firm- 
ness, patience  and  address.  Yet  he  came  out  more 
than   conqueror   in   the   end. 


6G  WOODBOURXE. 

Xot  only  had  he  seen  the  enmities  and  heart- 
burnings which  his  father's  unhappy  career  had 
provoked  L^id  to  rest  in  the  grave  with  their  au- 
thor, and  the  ancient  influence  and  prestige  of  his 
family  restored,  but  he  won  the  great  prize  of  his 
ambition,  a  seat  in  Parliament  conferred  upon  him 
by  the  spontaneous  action  of  the  people.  In  that 
body  he  gained  distinction  as  a  ready  and  forcible 
debater,  as  well  as  a  wise,  moderate  and  sagacious 
counsellor.  On  most  subjects  that  divided  parties 
he  allied  himself  with  Chatham  and  Burke,  and 
was  notably  fearless  and  outspoken  in  advocacy  of 
the  rightful   claims   of  the  American   colonies. 

But  although  Sir  William  Markham  had  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  the  general  good-will  -  of  the 
community  and  in  advancing  his  fortunes  to  the 
full  measure  of  his  aspirations,  he  had  made  dan- 
gerous enemies  in  another  quarter.  He  had  been 
active  and  unrelenting  in  the  suppression  of  law- 
lessness and  crime,  then  unusually  prevalent,  and 
from  long  impunity,  grown  reckless  and  defiant. 
The  country  along  the  borders  was  invested  with 
bands  of  outlaws  and  desperadoes,  who  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  disjointed  condition  of  affairs  to  ply 
their  nefarious  vocations.  Bobberies  on  the  high- 
way were  daily  occurrences,  murders  were  not  in- 
frequent, while  every  species  of  illicit  trafficking  in 
contraband  merchandize  was  carried  on  in  flagrant 
contempt  of  the  authorities.  To  the  condign  pun- 
ishment of  these  evil-doers  the  baronet  devoted  him- 
self with  uncommon  vigor  and  determination.  He 
was  especially  instrumental  in  breaking  up  a  noto- 
rious  ganof   of  smugglers,    v/ho   had    repeatedly  foiled 


WOODBOtTRKE.  67 

the  best  laid  schemes  of  the  custom-house  officials. 
On  this  occasion  his  zeal  cost  him  dearly  enough. 
Several  of  the  band  managed  to  escape,  their  leader 
among  the  rest.  Shortly  afterwards  the  baronet 
was  made  to  feel  their  vengeance  in  a  terrible  man- 
ner. His  little  boy,  the  heir  of  his  house,  just  two 
years  old,  was  mysteriously  stolen  and  carried  away, 
whither  it  was  impossible  to  discover,  though  search 
was  made  in  every  direction.  The  stroke  was  the 
mere  poignant  because  of  its  cruelty  to  the  wife  he 
so  tenderly  loved;  but  she,  in  turn,  for  his  sake, 
bore  the  grievous  affliction  with  amazing  fortitude. 
At  first  it  was  surmised  that  the  abduction  of  the 
child  was  a  device  to  extort  money;  but  when  in 
the  lapse  of  years  nothing  was  heard  of  him,  his 
parents  lost  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  him  again. 
Meantime  other  children  were  vouchsafed  to  them, 
and  the  care  of  these  had  the  effect  to  soften  and 
assuage  their  gi'ief  for  the  loss  of  their  first-born. 
But  latterly  another  misfortune  befell  Sir  Wil- 
liam, which  well-nigh  cost  him  his  life.  One  day 
last  spring  the  head  gamekeeper,  in  w^alking  his 
round  of  the  park,  soon  after  sundown,  discovered 
his  master  stretched  on  the  ground,  nearly  sense- 
less and  weltering  in  a  pool  of  blood.  He  proved 
to  be  dangerously,  wounded  by  a  sword-thrust 
throug^i  the  shoulder,  and  near  by  him  was  his 
own  rapier,  which  had  been  broken  off  close  to  the 
hilt.  When  restored  to  consciousness,  for  some  un- 
accountable reason,  he  refused  to  be  interrogated 
about  the  affair.  He  soon  got  well  of  his  injury, 
and,  as  he  persisted  in  preserving  the  strictest  reti- 
cence, the  supposed  attempt  to  assassinate  him  ceased 


G8  WOODBOUENE. 

to  be  the  subject  of  public  exc'tement  and  indigna- 
tion. 

At  tlie  time  spoken  of  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
Sir  William  Markham  had  been  absent  some  days  on 
business. 

"Well,  darling,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  when  their 
greeting  was  over,  ''you  cannot  chide  me  now  for 
want  of  punctuality.  Here  I  am  a  whole  day  in  ad- 
vance  of  the  time   appointed   for  my   return." 

"And  what  is  most  important,  your  mission,  I 
hope,  has  been  aocomplished,"  replied  Lady  Mark- 
ham. 

Sir  William. — "  To  my  entire  satisfaction ;  but  of 
that  presently.  You  have  had  an  adventure  this 
evening,  I  am  informed." 

Lady  M. — "An  adventure?  Yes,  it  was  something 
of  an   adventure,  who  told  you    of  it?" 

Sir  W. — "'  The  children ;  that  is,  Emily,  for  of  lit- 
tle Charlotte's  prattle  I  could  only  make  out  that 
somebody  had  been  drowned  and  come  to  life  again." 

Ladg  M. — "Then  you  have  not  heard  of  my  ex- 
traordinary visitor." 

Sir   W. — "  Visitors,   you  mean  to  say — the   boys." 

Lady  i/.— "And   their   father." 

Sir  W.  (eagerly). — "Their  father — Mr.  Asburton — 
has  be  been  here?"' 

Lady  M. — "Yes,  no  less  a  person  than  our  unsocia. 
ble  neighbor  across  the  lake.  It  seems  that  we  are 
Indebted  to  the  accident  which  befell  his  boys  for 
the  honor  of  his  visit.  You  never  told  me  that  you 
and  he  had  quarreled." 

Sir  W. — "For  the  reason,  love,  that  I  did  not 
deem  tlie    matter  of  sufficient  consequence  to  trouble 


WOODBOUnXE.  C9 

you  about.  There  was  an  unpleasant  passage  between 
us;  quarrel  it  could  hardly  be  called.  Soon  after 
it5  occurrence  he  went  away  to  France  where  I  sup- 
posed him  to  be  at  present  It  was  all  a  misunder- 
standing, growing  out  of  my  unlucky  rencontre  with 
another  person.  What  did  he  have  to  say  on  the 
subject  ?  " 

Lady  M. — "Xothing,  except  to  intimate  pretty 
plainly  that  the  enmity  was  wholly  on  your  part. 
When  I  assured  him  that  he  was  mistaken  in  sup- 
posing that  you  entertained  the  least  unfriendly  senti- 
ments towards  him,  he  was  evidently  extremely  well 
pleased,  and  ha^*ing  been  set  at  ease  on  that  point, 
became  quite  communicatiye.  I  was  not  before  aware 
that  he  was  a  nephew  of  Lady  Del  may." 

Sir  W. — "Nephew  by  blood;  but  in  conduct  a 
most  devoted   son." 

Lady   M. — '•'  She  had  a   son  ?" 

Sir  ir.— "So   I   have  been   told." 

Lady  M. — "  What  became   of  him  ?  " 

Sir  W, — '-'That  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover. 
It  is  a  painful  story,  darling  wife,  part  of  that  dis- 
agi'eeable  past  over  which  we  had  best  draw  the  cur- 
tain of  oblivion." 

Lady  JL — '-'Xot  so,  dearest  husband — things  with- 
out remedy  should  be  without  regard,  but  we  should 
not  cease  trying  to  redress  the  wrongs  which  have 
been  done  as  long  as  there  is  reasonable  hope  of  so 
doing." 

Sir  W. — ''  Spoken  like  your  own  noble,  generous 
and  devoted  self.  Without  your  constant,  unfailing 
sympathy  I  should  long  ago  have  given  way  to 
despair.     As  it  is,  my  efforts  have  assuredly  not  been 


70  WOODBOURXE. 

in  vain.  In  Lady  Delmay's  case  it  was  impossible 
to  undo  the  wickedness  wliicli  deprived  her  of  her 
liusband.  "What  it  has  been  in  my  power  to  do  for 
her  solace  and  relief  has  been  done." 

Lady  M.  (looking  at  him  reproachfully,  with 
swimming  eyes). — "  And  you  kept  it  a  secret  from 
me.  In  my  opinion  that  was  a  very  selfish  way  of 
doing  good  by  stealth,  not  even  permitting  your 
wife  to  share  in  it." 

Sir  W. — "There  you  go,  woman  like,  jumping  at 
a  wrong  conclusion.  The  fact  is,  your  ladyship,  I 
had  serious  misgivings  how  my  conduct  should  be 
viewed.  They  are  a  very  proud,  stiff-necked  gener- 
ation, full  of  bigotry  and  prejudice  and  apt  to  mis- 
construe the  best  meant  actions.  I  have  done  what 
I  conceive  to  be  right,  jn-oper  and  just  in  the 
premises.  How  they  will  take  it  remains  to  be 
seen.  If  in  good  part,  tlien  you  shall  have  the  whole 
credit  of  it;  if  with  bad  grace,  then — well,  my 
shoulders  are  broad  enough  to  bear  the  disappoint- 
ment. Eeally,  though,  I  am  delighted  to  hear  what 
you  tell  me  of    Mr.  Asburton ;  it  is  a  good   augury." 

Lady  M. — "Yes,  love,  but  we  should  not  forget 
the  sufferings  these  people  have  been  made  to  en- 
dure, and  should  make  due  allowance  for  their  exas- 
perated feelings.  Perchance  this  document  may  have 
some  bearing  on  the  subject." 

She  drew  forth  the  letter  which  she  had  concealed 
in  the  folds  of  her  dress  and  gave  it  to  her  husband. 

"From  Mr.  Asburton?"  he  inquired  hurriedly  glanc- 
ing at  the  address.  Lady  Markham  shook  her  head. 
He  opened  it  and  read.  Presently  he  gave  a  great 
start,  turned   pale  and    trembled    with  violent    agita- 


WOODBOURXE.  '  71 

tioii,  while  wonder  and  gladness  were  equally  blended 
in  his  face.  Mastering  his  emotion  with  a  powerful 
effort,  he  read  the  letter  through  and  without  a  word 
handed  it  to  his  wife,  whose  expressive  features  re- 
sponded eloquently  to  the  changes  of  his  own.  Had 
her  woman's  instinct  divined  the  cause  of  the  un- 
speakable joy  which  brightened  the  face  of  her  hus- 
band? In  no  other  way  can  be  explained  the  mar- 
vellous self-possession  with  which  she  read  the  start- 
ling intelligence  which  the  letter  conveyed.  It  was 
short,  and  in  these  words: 

On  Board  Bauk  "Katrine"  at  the  Broomilaw, 
GiiASGOW,   October  11th,  1775. 

Honored  Sir  :— Circumstances  have  lately  come  to  my 
knowledge  in  an  unexpected  manner,  which  make  me 
painfully  aware  that  I  have  done  you  grievous  wrong  both 
in  thought  and  deed.  The  conviction  would  be  a  source 
of  endless  regret  and  misery,  were  it  not  in  ray  power  to 
make  reparation  for  the  injury.  The  child  you  have  so 
long  mourned  for  dead  lives,  is  in  good  hands  and  has 
been  tenderly  and  gently  reared.  In  two  months'  time, 
God  help  me,  he  shall  he  restored  to  your  arms.  You 
have  an  enemj-,  Sir  AYilliam  ;  you  bear  the  mark  of  his 
deadly  purpose.  I  helped  him  to  escape.  He  shall  be 
delivered  into  5'our  hands.  That  done,  my  conscience 
will  be  relieved  of  a  heavy  burden.  To-morrow  I  sail 
for  Virginia.         Gratefully,  your  obedient  servant, 

DAVID  DELMAY. 

To  Sir   William  Markltam^   Baronet. 

Oh,  the  unselfish  purity  and  depth  of  woman's 
love!  She  felt  only  as  a  mother  could  feel  the  shock 
of  joy  and  gratitude  unutterable.  Yet  in  the  impulse 
of  supreme    happiness    her    first    thought  was  of  her 


72  WOODBOURXE. 

husband.  Smiling  throngh  her  tears,  her  beautiful 
face  beaming  with  angelic  light,  she  threw  herself 
on  his  breast  and  there  poured  out  her  whole  heart 
and  soul  in  divine  sympathy  with  him.  In  this  at- 
titude they  remained  some  minutes.  At  length,  the 
baronet,  in  a  voice  of  forced  calmness,  broke  the  holy 
silence : 

"Your  prophecy  is  fulfilled,  my  precious  wife," 
said  he ;  "  the  crowning  blessing  of  heaven  has  fallen 
on  your  patient  efforts.  But  there  is  something 
still  left  for  me  to  do.  Mr.  Delmay's  mistaken  zeal 
must  be  frustrated.  That  letter  is  dated  on  the 
11th  of  the  month;  to-day  is  the  19th,  nothing  pre- 
venting, the  ship  is  now  nearly  half  way  to  America. 
There  is  no  time  to  lose;  I  must  dispatch  a  messen- 
ger forwith  in  pursuit   of    her." 

"Why  not  wait  until  she  comes  back  to  Glas- 
gow?" asked  Lady  Markham,  with  newly  awakened 
interest." 

"'Xo,  no,"  replied  Sir  William,  "that  will  never 
do.  I  must  try  and  prevent  this  indignity  to  my 
cousin  Edward  for  my  own  honor's  sake.  As  you 
know,  I  have  written  to  him  that  I  freely  and 
frankly  accept  the  terms  he  has  offered.  Besides, 
his  name  is  gazetted  among  a  number  of  recent  ap- 
pointments of  ofiicers  in  the  American  army.  He 
must  not  be  brought  here.  I  have  it ;  Frederick  is 
in  London.  I  will  write  post-haste  to  detain  him 
there.  I  am  sure  he  will  gladly  undertake  the  mis- 
sion for  me.  Meanwhile,  I  will  myself  hasten  to 
Glasgow;  find  out  what  I  can  concerning  the 
movements  of  the  vessel  and  then  proceed  directly 
to  London.  Come,  come,  bestir,  my  bonny  Kate, 
and   help   me   prepare   for   my  journey." 


WOODBOURXE.  73 

*' Xot  to-niglit,  love/'  protested  Lady  Markham; 
"  surely .  you   Avill  not   set   out   to-night  ?" 

"In  half  an  hour,''  replied  the  baronet,  consult- 
ing his  watch,  "the  courier  Avill  start  for  London; 
at  early  dawn  I  shall  be  on  the  road  to  Scotland. 
That   is   decided." 

He  had  risen  as  he  spoke,  and  bending  down, 
kissed  her  tenderl}^  ''It  is  hard  to  part  from 
you,  darling,"  said  he  softly;  "but  it  cannot  be 
helped ;  I'll  not   be   long  gone." 

"  Be  not  troubled  for  me,  my  husband,"  replied 
his  brave  wife,  warmly  returning  his  caress;  "I 
am  always  happiest  when  3'ou  are  with  me;  but 
never  unhappy  when  we  are  separated  by  the  com- 
mand of  duty.     I   await  your   pleasure." 

Saying  which,  she  took  his  proffered  arm  and  they 
left  the  room  together. 


CnAPTER    YII. 


HEX  his  Excellency,  the  Eight  Honorable, 
John,  Earl  of  Dunmore,  the  last  and 
sorriest  of  his  Britannic  Majesty's  Lieu- 
tenant-Generals  of  the  Colony  and  Domin- 
ion of  Virginia,  and  Vice- Admirals  of  the  same, 
fled  in  conscience-stricken  dismay  from  the  venge- 
ance of  an  outraged  people,  he  took  refuge  with 
his  family  and  minions  on  board  of  the  Foivcij, 
man-of-war,  at  Yorktown;  there  being  no  other 
protecting  bulwark  nor  tower  along  the  steep  to 
afford  him  shelter  and  protection  from  the  terrible 
storm  his  dastardly  folly  had  evoked.  Thence  he 
transferred  the  seat  of  sovereignty  and,  as  became 
a  valiant  son  of  the  proud  mistress  of  "Xeptune's 
salt-wash,''  he  lorded  it  majestically  over  the  Vir- 
ginian Mare  Internum,  thundering  wrathfijl  anath- 
emas at  his  rebellious  subjects,  plundering  reparian 
sheep-folds  and  poultry-yards,  and  doing  all  manner 
of  base  and  contemptible  acts  of  cruelty  and 
revenge,  which  have  handed  his  name  down  to  ever- 
lasting detestation  as  the  meanest  of  the  infamous 
tools  of  a  demented  despot — like  master,  like  man. 
But   Ave   cannot  find  it   in   our  hearts  to  be   severely 


(74) 


WOODBOURKE.  7a 

critical  of  John  Bull's  i^eople  in  the  matter.  It 
greatly  mollifies  the  asperity  of  our  resentment 
towards  our  loving  cousins  for  sending  us  such  a 
shabby  set  of  rulers,  "when  ^ye  call  to  mind  the 
kind  and  quality  of  their  precious  kings.  Certainly 
we  of  this  generation  of  free  Americans  have  reason 
to  be  thankful  to  them  in  the  present  instance; 
for,  in  truth,  the  Grecian  gift  did  prove  a  very 
treasure.  They  could  not  possibly  have  done  more 
(shade  of  Dr.  Johnson,  forgive  us  the  nninten- 
tional  pun  I)  to  precipitate  the  result  so  devoutly 
prayed  for  by  all  true  patriots,  had  it  been  their 
deliberate  purpose  to  drive  the  colonists  to  desjier- 
ation  and  unite  them  in  a  compact  phalanx  of 
resistance  to  tyranny.  Fi?iis  coronat  ojms — their  loss 
was  our  great  gain.  Queen  Mary,  of  bloody  name 
and  execrated  memory,  when  dying,  told  somebody 
— her  father  confessor,  most  likely — that  the  word 
Calais  would  be  found  engraven  on  her  heart. 
Similarly,  imagination  may  trace  the  name  of  Amer- 
ica written  in  flaming  characters  on  the  heart  of 
that  fatuous  monarch  George  III,  to  whom  Eng- 
land is  indebted  for  the  loss  of  her  best  posses- 
sions in  the  Western  Hemisphere — a  staggering  blow 
to  her  high-blown  pride,  nathless  the  paradoxical 
Macaulay  has  endeavored  to  prove  that  it  was  a 
blessing  in   disguise. 

Having  tested  his  eminent  fitness  for  military 
command  and  by  his  brilliant  forays  reflected  addi- 
tional lustre  on  the  naval  annals  of  his  country, 
the  doughty  Dunmore  in  a  little  "while  gave  it  in 
charge  to  his  trusty  lieutenant,  Squire,  to  prosecute 
the    campaign    on    the    water,   and,    establishing    his 


76  WOODBOURNE. 

base  of  operations  at  tlie  town  of  Portsmouth, 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  a  Falstaffian  follow- 
ing of  variegated  ragamuffins,  Avith  whose  assistance 
he  ravaged  and  harried  the  defenceless  region 
around  the  Dismal  Swamp  until  his  ruffianly  pro- 
ceedings were  brought  to  a  stop  by  the  galhmt 
shirtmen  of    Howe   and   Woodford. 

In  addition  to  its  prominence  as  the  headquarters 
of  Dunmore's  tatterdemalion  army,  Portsmouth  now 
enjoyed  the  enviable  distinction  of  being  the  tem- 
porary capital  of  tlie  Old  Dominion — an  honor 
which  had  leen  conferred  upon  the  town  by  an 
especial  edict  of  the  peripatetic  governor,  and  one, 
too,  it  is  proper  to  add,  over  which  its  patriotic 
inhabitants  were  never  known  to  be  inordinately 
vainglorious. 

Tlie  gale  we  have  described  in  a  previous  chap- 
ter was  felt  here  in  full  fury,  driving  the  shipping 
to  shelter,  until  quite  a  fleet  of  vessels  of  various 
sizes  and  descriptions  were  seen  riding  at  anchor 
off  the  town.  One  of  these  challengeLl  particular 
notice.  Although  armed,  it  was  plain  from  her 
outfit,  appointments  and  build,  that  she  was  not 
in  regular  commission  as  a  vessel  of  war,  whilst 
in  hull,  rigging  and  spars,  she  bore  no  resemblance 
whatever  to  the  heavy  carriers  of  the  sea  which 
usually  frequented  these  w^aters,  and  from  which 
she  differed  as  a  race-horse  differs  from  a  steed  of 
Flanders.  Trim,  taper,  light  and  rakish,  she  might 
have  passed  for  the  model  of  one  of  those  dashing 
wing-footed  couriers  which  the  enterprising  mer- 
chants of  Baltimore  in  a  few  years  sent  forth  at 
their    own     risk   and   costs   on    the   dangerous   quests 


■WOODBOURXE.  77 

of  trade  and  traffic.  To  the  eye  of  a  nautical 
connoisseur,  she  had  every  mark  of  having  been 
designed  and  fitted  out  for  privateering  purposes, 
or  else  for  carrying  on  a  contraband  commerce 
with  the  Spanish  Main'  in  deSance  of  the  recent 
orders   in   council. 

In   the    state-cabin    of    this    jaunty    sliip    on    the 
evening  mentioned  was  a   single  occupant.     Wrapped 
in    a    rich   furred    robe   which    completely  envelopes 
his   person,   he   sits   in    a    reclining  position    on    one 
of    the   lockers,    with   his   head   resting   on   his   hand 
as   if  plunged  in  profound  thought.     His  face   is   in 
the    shadow    of    the   lamp   swinging   above   him,   and 
is  moreover  concealed  by  the  mass  of  long,  straight 
brown     hair     wliich,    released    from     control,    hangs 
loosely  about  his  head  and  shoulders.     There  is  that 
about     him     which     conveys     the     impression     at     a 
glance   that   he   is   a   man   of  no   mean   mould,  intel- 
Tectually   and    physically,   while   the    nervous   twitch- 
ing of    the   hrm-set    lips    and    the    arm    drawn    so 
tightly   across   his   breast   as   if   pressing   down   some 
struggling  emotion,  as  well  as  his  general  air  of  reverie 
and  abstraction,  betokens  that  there  is   a  severe  con- 
flict going   on   in   his  mind  and  that  he   is   exerting 
all    his    faculties    of    self  control   to    subdue   it.     So 
absorbing  is  his   occupation  that  he  pays   no   regard 
to  the   furious   gusts   of  wind   which   ever   and   anon 
smite   the    vessel,    causing   her    to    leap    and   bound, 
and    tug    at    her    cable,    and    sending    handfuls    of 
hailstones    rattling    down    upon   the   sky-light.     Xor 
does    he    hear    the    loud    knock    at    his    cabin-door 
until    it    has    been    thrice    repeated    with    increased 
emphasis.     At   last   he    starts   from   his    reverie    and 


78  WOODBOURXE. 

calls  out  impatiently,  '•  Come  in,"  at  the  same  time 
bending  his  stern  gaze  on  the  intruder.  It  is  a 
servant  in  livery,  who  enters  and  stops  abruptly 
as   he   encounters   his   masters   imperious   look. 

"  What  is  it,  Charles  ? "  inquired  the  gentleman, 
composing  his  disordered  mien  and  moderating  the 
severity  of  his   tone. 

"Mr.  Saunders  desires  to  know  if  he  can  sec 
your  honor,"   replied   the   man. 

There  were  voices  in  the  room  outside.  ""Who 
is  with  him  ? "  asked  the  gentleman,  without  mov- 
ing from   his   recumbent   position. 

"It  is  a  strange  man,  a  sailor  from  his  looks, 
an'   it   please   you,   sir,"   said   Charles. 

The  gentleman  sprung  up  with  sudden  interest, 
throwing  off  the  robe  and  displaying  the  tall, 
commanding  figure  of  a  man  in  the  vigorous 
prime  of  life.  "Admit  them,  Charles,"  said  he. 
At  a  sign  from  the  servant  there  entered  the  skip- 
per, a  brisk,  active,  manly  young  felloAv,  and  with 
him  none  other  but  our  old  friend,  Mike  Burke, 
who,  in  his  frieze  coat,  fox- skin  cap  and  long, 
shaggy  beard,  resembled  a  huge  good-natured  Xew- 
foundland   dog. 

"Well,  Saunders,"  asked  the  gentleman — who  had 
regained  his  self-possession — in  a  half-familiar  man- 
ner,  "  who   have  you   here  ?    A   pilot,   I  hope." 

"Please  you,  Master  Frederick,"  replied  the  skip- 
per— or  rather  first  mate,  for  such  was  his  real 
station — with  a  dignified  and  respectful  salutation, 
"he  is  an  old  acquaintance,  whom  I  accidentally 
]ncked  up  at  the  tavern  in  the  town  a  while  ago. 
He   brings   important  news    of    the   ship   we    are    in 


wooDBOunxE.  79 

search  of;  she  did  not  give  iis  tlie  slip  as  we 
feared  she  might  do  when  the  storm  hist  •  niglit 
drove  ns  to  harbor;  but  is  now  np  a  river  with 
a  barbai'ous  name  hereabouts  making  up  her  cargo.'' 

"How  came  this  fellow  by  the  intelligence? 
TThat  river  does  he  mean?*'  asked  the  Master  (we 
adopt  the  title  his  men  gave  him),  in  a  quick, 
decisive  voice,  his  piercing  grey  eyes  looking  from 
one  to  the  other  until  they  settled  sternly  upon 
Mike,  who  stood  twirling  his  cap  around  his  linger 
and  cocking  his  weather-eye  at  the  sky-light  with 
a  droll   expression   of    discomfiture   and   chagrin. 

"  Come,  Mike,"'  said  the  mate,  encouragingly,  "  tell 
his  honor  how  it  all  happened;  spin  away;  yon 
were  a  capital  hand  at  a  yarn  when  we  sailed 
witli    Captain    Byron.*' 

'•  Cell  I  '*'  said  Mike,  with  an  irre])rcssible  burst 
of  enthusiasm,  forgetting  where  he  was.  ^'An'  sure 
enough,  ye  v.  ere  the  cap'n's  cabin-boy  thin,  Jemmy 
Saunders,  and  a  mischievous  jackanapes  in  the  bar- 
gain, an'  now  ye're  e'en  most  a  cap*n  yerself. 
Begorra,  them  was  divartin'  times.  Arrah,  now  just 
to  think,  it's  many  a  time  I've  seen  the  lubberly 
spalpeen  rolling  in  the  lee-scuppers  and  floundering 
about  the  ship  like  a  fish  out  of  water,  and  here 
he  is  again,  a  picture  of  the  Admiral  hisself. 
Ax'  pardon,  yer  honor,*'  pulling  his  top-knot  to 
the  Master,  the  sternness  of  whose  gaze  had  given 
place  to  a  half  amused  expression;  'Mjut  it  does 
my  heart  good  to  fall  in  wid  an  old  messmate, 
and  me  and  Jemmy  Saunders  has  sailed  round  the 
world   in   the   same    ship." 

"Quite    right,    my   good   fellow,*'    replied    the    gen- 


80  WOODBOURXE. 

tlemaii,  "the  sentiment  does  you  much  credit;  but 
come,  now,  time  is  pressing;  tell  us  about  the  ves- 
sel  in   the   fewest  words   you   can   command." 

Giving  his  forelock  a  preliminary  jerk,  Mike 
launched  into  his  story  in  characteristic  style, 
half-comical,  half-pathetic,  and  altogether  Irish,  and 
by  no  means  as  concise  as  a  log-book  or  a  bill  of 
lading.  The  gist  of  the  matter  was  that  Mike's 
forlorn  expedition  had  been  undertaken  for  no  other 
object  than  to  render  "Misther  Dick"  a  kindly 
service.  On  getting  home  from  his  successful 
pursuit  of  the  thieves  who  had  stolen  his  boat, 
he  had  heard  from  his  wife  a  confused  and  alarm- 
ing account  of  the  kidnapping  affair.  Soon  after 
he  left  the  good  dame  had  flown  into  a  violent 
spasm  of  excitement  at  his  unaccountable  behavior, 
and  repaired  to  her  friends  at  Bonhill  for'  consola- 
tion and  advice.  Here  she  picked  up  enough  of 
the  news  afloat  to  satisfy  her  that  something  ter- 
rible had  happened,  and,  piecing  together  the 
materials  slie  had  gathered,  she  fabricated  a  lively 
and  harrowing  story,  wherewitli  she  regaled  her 
husband  after  she  had  sufficiently  berated  him  for 
his  cruel  treatment  of  her  that  morning.  From 
her  melodramatic  version  two  facts  only  were  clear 
to  Mike's  comiprehension ;  which  were,  first,  that 
Misther  Dick  was  greatly  put  out  and  vexed  in 
spirit;  and  secondly,  that  Captain  Dent  was  generally 
believed  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  trouble.  Now, 
Mike  had  a  sneaking  affection  for  his  old  captain,  and, 
albeit  circumstances  were  pretty  strong  against  him, 
he  could  not  believe  that  he  had  all  of  a  sudden 
turned    "bloody    pirate,"   for    sucli    Misthrcss    Mur- 


WOODHOUIiNi:.  *      81 

chieson's  tale  represented  him  to  be.  There  must 
be  some  mistake.  At  uU  events,  lie  "svonld  not 
condemn  Captain  Dent  before  he  liad  heard  the 
truth  of  the  matter  from  his  own  lips.  He  could 
not  rest  easy  in  his  mind  for  thinking  about  it; 
so,  when  night  came  on  he  determined  to  go  in 
search  of  the  Katrine,  knowing  that  she  had  put 
into  the  Eappahannock  river  and  for  what  purpose. 
Watching  his  chance,  he  gave  his  vigilant  spouse 
the  slip,  and  set  o.T  alone  in  his  boat  on  his  wild- 
goose  errand.  It  Avas  comparatively  calm  wlien  he 
started,  and  tlie  moon  was  shining  brightly  in  the 
clear  sky;  but,  by  the  time  he  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  Potomac,  the  wind  had  freshened  into  a 
gale  and  was  blowing  straight  across  the  bay.  He 
tried  in  vain  to  make  head  against  it ;  he  was 
driven  from  his  course,  and  his  little  jolly-boat, 
becoming  entirely  unmanageable,  began  to  dip 
her  gunnels  and  to  take  in  water  by  the  pailful. 
Fearful  of  being  swamped  or  capsized,  he  unstej)ped 
his  mast  and  suifered  his  sail  to  go  by  the  board, 
thereby  surrendering  himself  to  the  merciful  pleas- 
ure of  the  elements.  In  this  helpless  foshion,  after 
buffetting  with  the  winds  and  waves  for  twelve 
long  hours,  he  was  fortunately  discovered  and  taken 
in  tow  by  a  lishing-craft  and  bronght  to  Ports- 
mouth, where,  half-drowned,  hungry,  tired  and  in 
a  generally  miserable  and  woe-begone  pickle,  he 
was  accidentally  stumbled  on  by  Saunders,  engaged 
in  drying  his  clothes  and  comforting  his  inner- 
man   by  the   kitchen   fire   in   the   tavern. 

"  What  are  the  Katrine  s  sailing  cpialities  ?  '*  asked 
the  Master,  when  Mike  had  related  his  miscellane- 
ous  adventures. 


8^         '  WOODBOUEXE. 

"On  a  wind,  plaze  yer  honor,"  replied  tlie  old 
sailor,  ^'slie  can  liowld  her  own  wid  the  loveliest 
crayther  that  floats,  an'  Captain  Dent  is  the  man 
to   make  the   most  of  every  capful  that  is  blowin'." 

"Then,  Saunders,"  said  the  Master,  '*we  haven't 
a  second  to  lose;  she  may  yet  give  us  the  slip  if 
we   are  not   expeditious.     How  is   tlie   weather?" 

"  Rougher  than  I  could  wish,  sir,"  replied  the 
mate;  "but  the  wind  has  hauled  a  point  or  two 
since  sunset,  and  we  can  make  pretty  fair  headway 
up   the  bay." 

The  gentleman  again  abruptly  accosted  Mike. 
"This  Captain  Dent's  turning  kidnapper  does  not 
seem  to   affect   your   opinion   of   him,   my  man.'' 

The  old  sailor  grinned  ruefully.  "Belike,  your 
honor,  it  was  the  orders  of  his  betters.  A  sailor 
must  obey  orders  if  it  breaks  owners;  eh.  Jemmy 
Saunders  ?'' 

Saunders  nodded  assent;  seeing  his  Master's  drift, 
he   had   put   on   a   serious   countenance. 

"The  poor  Frenchman,  as  you  say,  is  not  likely 
to  fare  well  in  such  hands  ? "  continued  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"I  can  speak  for  the  cap'n,  yer  honor,*'  replied 
Mike,  warmly ;  "  he  must  be  a  changed  man  entirely, 
if  he   Avould  harm   a  hair  of  the  gentleman's  head." 

"How   do   you   know  he  is   a  gentleman,   sirrah?" 

"  Faith,  yer  honor,  it's  sorrow  to  the  tongue  o' 
Misthress  Murchieson  an'  he  is  not  a  gentleman; 
fer  didn't  she  say  he  was  goin'  to  marry  the 
Squire's  beautiful  dater?"  And  Mike  shot  a  re- 
proachful  glance   at   the   young   skipper. 

The    Master    beckoned    Saunders    aside,    and    they 


AVOODBOUEXE.  83 

remained  some  minutes  in  wliispered  conference. 
Presently  he  tnrned  and  addressed  Mike,  smiling 
pleasantly   as   lie   did   so. 

*'Well,  my  good  fellow,  you  shall  not  miss  your 
chance  to  get  back  to  the  old  country  after  all. 
You  have  only  to  do  my  present  bidding,  and  then 
Captain  Dent  can   take  charge  of  you." 

The  ruse  had  its  effect.  There  was  no  longer 
room  to  doubt  the  old  sailor's  perfect  honesty. 
Whatever  hankering  he  might  have  for  the  sea- 
faring life  he  had  quitted,  he  had  certainly  no 
intention  of  running  away  from  his  friends.  "The 
ould  counthryl"  he  exclaimed,  twisting  his  features 
into  a  wofui  grimace,  "  Och,  yer  honor,  an'  what 
will  Misther  Dick  and  Misthress  Murchieson  say 
to  me  when  I  come  back,  and,  for  the  matter  of 
that,   how   am   T   going   to   get  back?'' 

Both  Saunders  and  the  Master  laughed  heartily. 
'•Xever  mind,  my  good  man,"'  said  the  hitter,  "I 
only  jested  with  you.  What  I  really  desire  of  you 
is  to  take  us  where  we  can  find  the  other  vessel, 
and  then  we  will  let  you  return  to  your  friends. 
See  that  his  boat  is  taken  aboard,  Saunders;  I 
have  no  further  orders  for  you,  except  to  make  all 
dispatch  and  not  to  call  me  up  until  there  is 
absolute   occasion   for   doing   so;    I   must   have   rest.'' 

^'Be  dad,"  said  Mike,  with  a  quizzical  leer  at 
the  mate,  as  the  latter  slapped  him  playfully  on 
the  back  and  gave  him  a  boost  up  the  companion- 
way;  "and  sure,  it's  drameing,  I  am,  that  I  am 
goin'  to  sail  wid  Jemmy  Saunders  in  the  Flying 
Dutcliman.^'' 

And    well    might    the    old    sailor    fancy    he    was 


S-i  WOODBOURXE. 

dreaming;  for  his  waking  vision  was  never  before 
greeted  by  sucli  an  inspiring  spectacle  as  a  few 
moments  later  tlie  Alalania  presented,  bounding 
over  the  billows  under  a  strong  quarter  breeze,  as 
though  she  really  felt  in  every  fibre  of  her  beau- 
tiful  frame 

The  cxuithig  sense— the  pulse's  mad-lening:  play, 
That  thrills  the  wanderer  of  that  trackless   way. 

Duly  installed  in  his  ofnce  cf  pilot  and  plied 
vrith  an  extra  allowance  of  genuine  poteen,  he  kept 
the  forecastle  in  such  an  uproar  with  his  marvelous 
reminiscences  that  there  would  liave  been  little 
need  of  the  boatswains  whistle  in  case  of  alarm 
to  pipe  the  crew  to  quarters.  What  particularly 
surprised  him  was  to  see  that  the  men  were  all 
either  young  or  middle-aged,  and  ho  was  still  more 
astonished  when  Saunders  gave  him  to  understand 
that  the  vessel  belonged  to  the  Master,  who  was 
as  rich  as  a  ^q^^,  and  that  the  matter  of  wages 
was  no  consideration  if  the  lads  behaved  themselves. 

Xothing  occurred  during  the  night  to  require  the 
Masters  presence  on  deck.  An  hour  or  so  before 
the  dawn  they  were  off  the  mouth  of  the  Currito- 
man.  A  black  cloud  obscured  the  light  of  the 
moon.  Mike  said  there  was  plenty  cf  water  inside, 
but  he  could  not  distinguish  the  landmarks  in  the 
darkness.  So  they  reefed  their  sails  and  stood  off 
and  on  waiting  for  daylight.  Meantime  Saunders 
took  the  liberty  to  call  the  Master  up  for  more 
specific  instructions.  Just  as  he  made  his  appear- 
ance the  lookout  announced  a  sail  in  sight,  close 
aboard,  on  the  starboard  bow.  The  mate  leveled 
his   glass   in    that   diroction. 


WOODBOURXE.  85 

''It's  a  large  schooner/'  said  he,  "and  there,  she 
has  gone  about  like  a  "svbirligig  and  is  running 
away  as  if  the  devil  were  at  her  heels.  I  would 
like,  for  tho  fun  of  the  thing,  to  send  a  shot  over 
her   head.-' 

"Blaze  away,  then,"  replied  the  Master;  "it's 
the   quickest    way   to   call   her   back." 

In  a  trice  the  pivot-gun  amid-ships  was  run  up, 
manned  and  loaded.  "Aim  high,"  said  Saunders  to 
the  gunner.  "Fire!"  Tlie  report,  which  followed, 
was  echoed  from  hank  to  hank  of  the  river,  and 
reyerberating  far  and  wide  over  the  adjacent 
country,  caused  many  a  sleeper  to  start  up  in 
fear  and  trembling  at  the  terrible  thought  that 
Dunmore's  war-dogs  were  let  loose  upon  them.  "We 
have  seen  what  effect  it  had  on  our  friends  aboard 
the  Endeavor, 


CHAPTER    YIII', 


0   you   know  that  craft,  Mr.   Burke?"  asked 
the    Master   of    the    Atalanta    of  the  old 
sailor,   who   was   peering  through  the  dusk 
with  all   his   miglit  at    the  schooner. 
"My  eyes   are  none   of  the  best,  plaze  yer  honor," 
replied   Mike;   "but   I   have   a  notion  there  is  some- 
thing familiar  like  in   the   cut  of  her  jib." 

"Take  a  look  at  her  through  this,"  said  the 
blaster,  handing  him  the  spy-glass,  which  he  no 
sooner  brouglit  to  bear,  than  he  exclaimed,  "Sure 
enough,  it  is  Misther  Ballington's  Inclivcr — an'  may  I 
never  see  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  glory,  ef  it  ain't 
Misther  Dick — tlie  gentleman  in   tlic   boat." 

"Eh?"  said  the  Master,  gazing  with  keen  inter- 
est at  the  party,  "there  are  three  persons  in  the 
boat,  which  of  them  is  your  friend  Mr.  Alloway?" 
"The  big  gentleman,  yer  honor,  as  is  taking  his 
seat  in  the  stern-sheets,  him  as  Misthress  Murchie- 
son  calls  Golier,  an'  a  giant  he  is  by  the  same 
token — most  like  one  of  them  ugly  haythens  we 
came  across  in  Pattagony — leastways  in  stater,  I 
mane."  "Oh,  the  Irish  giant,"  said  the  Master, 
laughing;  "  wjio    are     Ihe    other     t\vo  ?     You     don't 


(SC) 


Yt'OODBOUrvXE.  87 

know    tliein — well   you   can    go   l3elov>'    and   turn    in 
until  you   are   wanted   again.'' 

Mike  was  going  to  protest  against  being  summa- 
rily sent  to  bed  at  so  interesting  a  conjunctnre, 
but  catching  the  Masters  eye,  he  saw  that  the 
command  was  intended  to  b3  obeyed  without  fur- 
ther questioning.  "When  ha  Avas  gone,  the  Master 
stood  watching  the  boat  until  it  came  alongside, 
then  he  descended   to   the   cabin. 

*•' Charles,"  said  he  to  the  servant,  "go  up  and 
tell  Mr.  Saunders  to  send  Mr.  Alloway  to  me;  he 
can  take  charge  of  the  other  persons.  This  is  in- 
deed a  fortunate  turn  of  affairs,''  he  contintied, 
speaking  io  himself  as  the  man  departed  on  his 
errand;  "this  meeting  relieves  me  of  a  deal  of 
trouble.  That  document,  now  where  did  I  put  it, 
ah,   I   remember." 

From  a  drawer  in  the  buffet  he  drew  forth  a 
paper,  and  seating  himself  at  a  table  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  awaited  the   execution  of  his  order. 

If  Mr.  Richard  Alloway  had  reason  to  be  agree- 
ably impressed  by  the  civil  terms  of  the  invitation 
he  had  received  to  repair  on  board  of  the  Aialania^ 
he  had  greater  cause  for  surprise  at  the  leceptjon 
which  greeted  him  as  he  entered  the  c^biru  Rising 
from  his  seat,  the  Master  advanced  to  meet  him, 
and  extending  his  hand,  said  in  a  tone  and  man- 
ner at  once  courteous,  frank  and  contiding,  "  I  have 
the   honor   to   address   Mr.  Richard  Alloway?" 

"That  is  my  name,  sir,  and  you,  I  presume,  are 
Captain  ^Jarkham,"  replied  Dick,  taking  tlie  seat 
which  was  politely  tendered  him. 

"So  my  crew  call  me  when   on  shore;  aboard  ship 


88  WOODBOURXE. 

I  am  thi  Master.  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Mr.  Al- 
loway,  for  overhauling  you  so  rudely.  Permit  me 
to  explain.  I  was  in  vrant  of  certain  intelligence 
which  I  thought  it  likely  you  could  give  me,  and 
therefore  took  that  effectual  method  of  stopping  your 
flight.  Of  course  you  took  my  vessel  to  be  one  of 
his  Excellency's  gunboats." 

Alloway  frankly  confessed  that  he  did  entertain 
such  a  reasonable   supposition. 

"You  will  be  gratified  then  to  learn  that  your 
fears  are  groundless.  I  have  naught  whatever  to 
do  wdth  Lord  Diinmore's  affairs;  my  business  here 
is  wholly  of  a  private  nature.  Waiving  ceremony, 
I  have  in  the  first  place  to  thank  you  for  the 
lively  interest  you  have  manifested  in  a  kinsman  of 
mine,   who  has  been  yery  foully  wronged." 

"Edward  Markham — is  he  here  on  this  ship?" 
exclaimed  Dick  in  utter  bewilderment,  no  less  at 
hearing  his  own  name  so  pat  on  the  tongue  of  a 
total  stranger  than  at  the  connection  in  which  it 
was  pronounced. 

"Xo,  he  is  not  here,"  replied  the  Master,  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  Dick's  look  of  blank  aston- 
ishment; "'but  you,  Mr.  Alloway,  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  can  tell   me  w^here   he  is   to  be  found." 

Alloway  reflected  a  moment,  his  usually  clear  and 
collected  wits  were  for  the  nonce  in  a  state  of  in- 
tricate confusion. 

"I  have  a  friend  who  came  with  me,  Captain 
Markham,"  said  he;  "he  is  equally  conversant  with 
the  subject  of  your  inquiry.  May  I  beg  that  he  be 
made  a  party  to   this   interview." 

"Your  request  is  quite  proper,"  replied  the  Mas- 
ter.    "You   refor   to   the  elderly   personage." 


wooDBOurvis'E.  89 

"Xo,  sir;  it  is  the  young  gentleman  of  wliom  I 
speak,"  said  Dick.  "He!  why  he  is  a  mere  strip- 
ling to  all  appearance/*'  exclaimed  the  Master.  "He 
is  scarcely  twenty  years  old,"  replied  Dick,  warmly; 
"but  for  all  that,  you  will  find  him  to  be  a  man 
in   the   truest   sense   of  the  word." 

"Damon  and  Pythias,"  said  the  Master  smiling, 
and  putting  his  mouth  to  a  speaking-tube  which 
communicated  with  the  mate's  room,  he  ordered  him 
to  conduct  Mr.  Alloway's   friend  to   the   cabin. 

Carleton  was  no  less  astonished  than  Dick  had 
been  by  the  scene  which  awaited  him  there;  but  he 
had  the  address  to  conceal  his  emotion  under  the 
guise  of  easy  dignity  and  composure  of  mien,  which 
showed  that  his  friend's  confidence  in  his  resources 
was  not  misplaced.  The  formality  of  introduction 
passed,  the  Master  said:  "I  was  asking  your  friend 
here,  Mr.  Carleton,  to  tell  me  what  has  happ)ened  to 
my  kinsman,  Edward  Markham.  i  now  repeat  the 
question." 

Encouraged  by  Harry's  presence,  Dick,  without 
further  hesitation,  related  with  graphic  distinctness 
all  the  particulars  of  the  kidnapping  affair,  as  well 
as  the  revelations  which  had  come  to  light  concern- 
ing the  yictims.  The  Master  listened  to  the  story 
with   grave  and  earnest  attention. 

"'It  was  a  bold  stroke,  your  attempted  rescue, 
gentlem.en,"  said  he,  when  Dick  had  concluded  his 
narrative.  "Likely  eiiough  you  Avould  have  been 
successful  but  for  the  unexpected  obstacle  you  have 
encountered.  Erom  your  account,  Mr.  Alloway,  this 
Captain  Dent,  as  you  call  him,  has  acted  entirely  on 

8* 


90  WOODBOURNE. 

his  own  responsibility.  Yet  lie  must  ha^e  a  motiye, 
and  a  strong  one   too,  for  his  audacious  behavior." 

"  That  goes  Avithout  saying,''  interposed  Carleton, 
"most  human  actions  spring  from  some  motive  good 
or  bad.  In  tlie  present  case  ^ve  have  been  unable 
to  discover  it,  that's  all.  I  have  no  acquaintance 
with  Captain  Dent,  but  from  my  friend's  descrip- 
tion of  him  I  should  as  soon  expect  the  sea  to 
give  up  its  dead  as  for  him  to  divulge  the  motive 
of  his  conduct   in  this   matter." 

"  Yet  he  has  divulged  it,"  said  the  Master,  "  to 
one  person  at  least,  and  it  is  not  a  bad  motive 
either,  as  you,  Mr.  Carleton,  will  readily  admit, 
when  you  have  heard  the  particulars  of  this  hazard- 
ous adventure.  In  the  outset  I  will  state  that  the 
person  in  whose  behalf  it  was  undertaken  is  my 
brother.  Sir  AVilliam  Markham.  From  him  I  re- 
ceived— "  He  w^as  interrupted  by  a  shrill  whistle 
proceeding  from  the  speaking  tube.  "  Pray  excuse 
me  a  moment,  gentlemen,  that  signal  requires  my 
presence  on  deck,"  saying  which  he  went  out  ab- 
ruptly, leaving  the  amazed  friends  to  discuss  the 
strange   turn   events  had  taken. 

"AVell,  Harry,"  said  Dick,  drawing  a  loug  breath, 
"I  am  fairly  dazed;  it  all  looks  like  a  talc  of  the 
Arabian  ISIights.". 

"Or  an  Indian  summer  day's  dream,"  responded 
Harry;  "it's  lucky  for  us  that  our  captor  does 
not  prove  to  be  one  of  his  Lordship's  corsairs,  in 
that  case  we  should  have  been  in  a  lively  pre- 
dicament; there's  no  telling  what  that  gruff  old 
Scotchman  would  have  said  about  us  to  save  his 
own   ])acon." 


WOODEOURXE.  91 

"Lucky,  indeed,"  said  Dick;  "I  made  sure  we 
were  in  an  ugly  scrape ;  relieved  on  that  score,  the 
Avonder  now  is  how  in  the  world  he  came  to  kiiow 
who  I  was."' 

Ilarri/.—'- 1)'A   you   not   tell   him?" 

Dicic, — ^'Xot  a  word;  he  saluted  me  as  familiarly 
as  though  I  were  an  old  acquaintance,  and  stranger 
still,  he  knew  exactly  what  it  was  we  v/ere  so  much 
concerned  about." 

Harry. — '-lie  must  surely  have  falk'U  in  with 
the  Katrine,'' 

Dick  shook  his  head.  '-That  is  not  the  least 
probable;  if  he  had  he  would  not  have  questioned 
me  so  closely;  besides  he  could  not  in  that  way 
have   learned  anything   of  our   movements." 

Harry, — "One  thing  is  certain,  he  was  privy  to 
the  kidnapper's  design.  Sir  William  Markham's 
brother,  eh?  It's  just  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
one  of  those  delightful  little  family  feuds  which  are 
an  every-day  occurrence  in  our  merry  motherland.  I 
am  truly  sorry  for  your  fair  cousin,  Dickon;  she'll 
uot  see  her  captive  knight  again  in  a  hurry.  Well, 
well,  there  is  nothing  like  patience,  old  boy,  as  I 
have  often  inculcated — *  of  all  the  virtues  'tis  the 
nearest  kin  to  heaven.'  So  far,  so  well.  Here  we 
are  sound  and  hale,  in  the  snuggest  and  most 
comfortable  quarters,  courteously  entreated  and  hos- 
pitably  entertained.     What   more   could   we   desire?" 

Dick. — "'When  I  Avas  at  home  I  was  in  a  bet- 
ter place.'  There  I  am  sure  I  could  get  Gomething 
to  eat;  I   am  as   ravenous   as   a  wolf." 

Harry. — ''That  comes  of  your  fastiug  yesterday. 
Catch  me  taking    other    people's   troubles    so  much 


92  WOODBOUPtXE. 

to  heart.  I  am  not  the  least  Lit  hungry;  had  you 
said  thirsty — halloo!   what's  that?" 

"x\nchored,  by  Jove,"  exclaimed  Dick;  at  the  same 
moment  the  man,  Charles,  made  his  appearance, 
bringing  in  a  smoking  bowl,  whose  peculit.r  aromatic 
fragrance  plainly  discovered  the  nature  of  the  in- 
gredients it  contained.  This  he  deposited  on  the 
sideboard,  from  which  receptacle  he  next  produced 
sundry  bottles  of  v>ine.  Then  having  disposed  the 
table  in  due  form,  he  went  out  again  and  presently 
retuwied  with  a  large  tray  on  which  was  a  tempt- 
ing array  of  viands  of  various  sorts,  constituting  on 
the  whole  an  elegant  and  substantial  repast.  Al- 
loway  greeted  these  preparations  with  signs  of  un- 
disguised satisliiction,  his  eyes  fairly  sparkling  with 
pleasure.  "The  Master  is  engaged,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  man,  when  he  had  comph^ted  these  prelimi- 
naries; "he  begs  that  j'ou  will  consider  yourselves 
perfectly  at  home   in   his  absence." 

"Your  master  is  very  kind,"  replied  Dick, 
promptly  availing  himself  of  the  invitation;  "we 
pledge  him  our  humble  service.  Capital  punch, 
Harry;  irj  a  glass." 

Harry,—'' ^o,  thank  you;  this  claret  is  strong 
enough  for  n^.e.  I'll  have  a  bottle  at  table,  if  you 
please,"  to   the   servant. 

Dick. — "There's  no  accounting  for  tastes;  I  would 
not  give  a  glass  of  punch  like  that  for  the  entire 
vintage  of  France.  Xoav,  Het  good  digestion  wait 
on  appetite,'"  v/ith  which  appropriate  grace  he  took 
a  seat  at  the  table  and  fell  to  with  an  energy  and 
heartiness  which  made  the  eyes  of  the  staid  major- 
domo   dilate   with   astonishment. 


WOODBOURXE.  93 

The  presence  of   the  servant  acted  as  a  restraint 
upon     the    freedom    of   their   conversation,   and   the 
meal  proceeded  in  silence,  broken  only  by    an    occa- 
sional  trite    remark.      When    it    Avas   over     and   the 
debris     were     cleared     away,      "Xow,*'     said     Dick, 
stretching   his   burly   form  to   full  advantage,   **I  am 
ready  for    anything    that    comes    along;  nothing   so 
demoralizes     a   man     as     an  empty    paunch.      AVhat 
makes    you    so    serious  all    of   a    sudden,   Harry?" 
"I  was   turning   over  in   my  mind" — his   reflections, 
whatever  they   might  have  been,   were    cut   short  by 
the  entrance    of    Captain   Markham.     "It   has   fallen 
dead   calm,   gentlemen,"  said  he,   as   he  resumed  his 
seat;  "so  I    shall  have    the  pleasure    of  your  com- 
pany some  time    longer.     Eecurring    to  the   subject 
Ave  were  on,   a  word  of  introduction  will    not  come 
amiss.     My  name     is    Frederick    Markham.      When 
only    eight    years    old    my    father,     who    took    no 
thought  of    his    children,   save    my  oldest    brother, 
AA^illiam,  gave  me  in    charge  to  a    maternal    uncle 
living    in    Barbadoes.     Partly  from    inclination,   but 
chiefly   on  account  of    disagreeable   circumstances   at 
home,  my  uncle  had  led  a  roving  sort  of  life,  being 
at  one  time  a  soldier    of  fortune,   then    a  sea  cap- 
tain,    and     lastly    an      amphibious    character,     now 
sailor,  then   planter.      Though  a    man    of  letters,   he 
had  a  decided  turn    for    speculation.     In    other  re- 
spects he   was   active,   energetic,   temperate   and  self- 
denying.     He  was    married,   but  childless.     His  wife 
came  of  an    old   French    Huguenot    family  resident 
in    the    island.     To   her    I   am  mainly  indebted  for 
my  education,    such    as  it  is;  my  uncle,   being  fre- 
quently away  on  long  voyages   while  I  was  growing 


9-4  WOODBOUUis'E. 

lip,  liad  little  time  to  devote  to  doinestic  matters. 
I  was  turned  eighteen,  "vvheu  Irc  was  brought  liome 
sick  of  a  distemper  caught  while  trading  on  the 
coast  of  AfriciL  During  his  long  illness  I  had  the 
sole  management  of  his  affairs,  and  acquitted  myself 
so  much  to  his  satisfaction  that  when  he  got  well 
he  surrendered  the  helm  entirely  into  my  hands. 
Tlie  nature  of  tlie  business  kept  me  continually 
afloat,  so  that  I  became  literally  a  dweller  upon 
the  sea.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  during  all  this 
time  I  never  visited  England.  The  explanation  is 
that  on  my  once  expressing  a  desire  to  do  so  my 
uncle  showed  so  much  displeasure  that  I  refrained 
from  mentioning  the  subject  again  until  it  was 
brought  vividly  to  mind  by  reading  in  the  English 
papers  an  account  of  the  supposed  murderous  as- 
sault upon  my  brother.  I  was  in  Halifax  at  the 
time  buying  lumber  to  finisih  this  very  ship.  Mak- 
ing known  my  wish  to  uncle,  he  not  only  ac- 
quiesced, but  proposed  that  I  should  take  the  trip 
in  the  new  vessel  as  soon  as  she  was  completed. 
She  was  built  after  a  model  of  his  own  invention 
and  he  personally  inspected  every  part  of  the  work, 
so  that  the  process  was  necessarily  slow  and  tedious, 
and  I  did  not  arrive  at  London  before  the  middle 
of  September.  I  repaired  at  once  to  Markham  Cas- 
tle, our  family  seat,  in  Cumberland.  Here  I  Avas 
welcomed  by  the  brother  from  whom  I  had  been 
separated  so  many  years,  with  every  mark  of  affec- 
tion, lie  Avas  entirely  recovered  from  the  injury 
he  had  received  and  made  light  of  my  allusion  to 
it.  He  never  once  spoke  of  his  assailant,  and  I 
naturally  gave  credence  to  the  commonly  re^^orted 
version   of  the  affair." 


WOODBOURNE.  95 

"I  remember,"  said  Alloway,  "reading  an  account 
of  it  in  the  Virginia  Gazette,  copied  from  an  Eng- 
lish paper.  It  said  he  had  been  set  npon  by  some 
unknown  ruffian   while  walking  in  the  park." 

"So  it  was  believed,"  continued  the  Master;  "Sir 
William  Markham  is  in  one  respect  the  most  ex- 
traordinary man  I  ever  met  with;  he  never  says  a 
word  to  anybody,  his  wife  excepted,  about  his  own 
troubles,  and  I  should  have  remained  in  profound 
ignorance  of  our  painful  family  history  but  for 
a  most  fortuitous  circumstance.  After  staying  sev- 
eral weeks  at  the  Castle,  I  returned  to  London  to 
make  preparations  for  my  homeward  voyage.  I  was 
on  the  eve  of  departure,  when  a  messenger  came  in 
great  haste  from  my  brother  to  arrest  me.  Almost 
at  the  same  instant  a  letter  was  handed  me  from 
my  uncle  with  news  of  my  aunt's  alarming  illness 
and  imploring  me  to  make  all  speed  back  to  Bar- 
bad  oes.  In  two  days  my  brother  arrived.  He  had 
been  travelling  day  and  night  and  looked  jaded  and 
care-worn.  Yet  his  foce  wore  its  old  expression  of 
stern,  inflexible  resolution  and  liis  words  were  few 
and  directly  to  the  point.  He  came  to  demand  my 
service  in  a  matter  in  which  he  was  peculiarly 
interested,  but  which  concerned  my  honor  as  well  as 
his  own.  He  explained,  and  then  for  tlie  first  time 
I  had  a  view  of  the  skeleton  in  the  house  of  Mark- 
ham;  then  I  knew  why  it  was  my  good  uncle  had 
always  forebore  to  speak  of  my  father."  He  paused 
and  suddenly  rising,  paced  the  cabin  with  hurried 
strides.  Presently  he  stopped  and  resumed :  "  I 
forget  myself,  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  pursue 
the   painful    theme.     Sufilce    it,    that    I    am    here   in 


96  WOODBOUE^'E. 

time  to  prevent  fiir.tlier  mischief.  Yet  I  ought  even 
now  to  be  at  home.  I  shall  nevei^  forgive  myself 
if  I  tarry  an  instant  longer  than  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  execute  the  purpose  of  my  coming.  This 
docnment,  which  I  beg  to  commit  to  your  hands, 
Mr.  Alloway,  will  explain  everything.  It  is  ad- 
dressed as  you  perceive  to  my  cousin,  in  the  care 
of  Captain  David  Del  may,  otherwise  known  as  Cap- 
tain Dent  It  will  fully  accomplish  what  you  de- 
sire. I  must  be  gone  from  here  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. Hark,  there  is  the  signal  again.  Yvliat  is  it, 
Saunders?"  he  demanded. 

"The  wind  is  rising,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Up  with  your  anchor  instantly,"  orderd  the 
Master.     "  Come,  gentlemen,  we  inust  part." 

In  the  ante-room  a  fresh  surprise  awaited  the 
friends,  in  the  apparition  of  Mike  Burke,  his  jolly 
features  radiant  with  the  combined  inspiration  of 
joy  and  poteen. 

"Here  is  a  waif  I  picked  up  below,  Mr.  Al- 
loway," said  the  Master ;  "  he  claims  to  be  your 
very  'fidus  Achates,'  and  is  in  a  peck  of  troubles 
for  fear  you  might  think  he  intended  to  run  away. 
I  assure  you  he  has  resisted  every  effort  of  mine, 
seconded  by  my  mate,  to  seduce  him  from  his  al- 
legiance to  you  and  a  lady  he  calls  Mrs.  Murchei- 
son." 

Harry  glanced  at  Dick,  and  seeing  that  he  was 
completely  dumbfounded,  made  haste  to  cover  his 
confusion  and  give  him  time  to  rally  his  senses 
from  the  effect  of  this  unlooked-for  blow. 

"'Why,  this  is  indeed  a  fortunate  escape,"  said  he; 
"'we  had  given  you  up  for  lost,  Mr.  Burke;  my 
friend  Alloway  was  quite  inconsolable." 


WOODBOURIfE.  97 

"Xotliing  of  the  kind,  Mike/'  iuterruptcd  Dick; 
*  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  old  friend,  I  did  you 
gi'eat  injustice  in  my  thoughts  and  am  very  sorrv 
for  it.     There  is   my  hand." 

"  Och,  Misther  Dick,''  replied  the  old  sailor,  as 
their  hands  met  in  a  grip  that  made  Carletcm's 
fingers  tingle  to  see,''  '•  an'  did  ye  really  believe 
that  Mike  Burke  had  clean  gone  and  desarted  in- 
tirely?  Faix,  it's  no  wonder  after  his  stealing  away 
like  a  dirty  thief  in  the  night." 

"  But  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobodv  jrood, 
Mike,"  said  the  Master;  *•'!  was  in  sore  need  of  a 
]nlot,  and  the  storm-king  sent  me  the  very  fellow 
I  wanted." 

*•  AVhy,  where  is  our  Scotchman  ?"  asked  Carleton, 
when   thev  were   on   deck   lookiniT    around. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  say,"  replied  the  Master,  ''that 
as  he  seemed  ill  at  ease,  I  sent  him  back  to  the 
schooner.     AVhat   do   you   know  of  him  ?" 

^•Xothing,  except  that  he  is  mortally  anxious  to 
get  back  to  the  old  country,  like  a  sagacious  rat 
running  for  life  from  a  doomed  ship,  as  he  imag- 
ines." 

''The  Scotch  are  as  prudent  as  they  are  proud," 
said  the  Master,  with  a  meaning  smile.  '*' Mr.  Hun- 
ter is  not  singular  in  his  opinion.  Of  course  there 
can  be   but  one  end   to   this  disturbance." 

"And  that,"  said  the  fiery  Carleton,  the  blood 
mounting  to  his  cheek,  "will  be  the  realization  of 
good  King  Alfred's  dying  wish." 

"What  was  that?"  inquired  the  Master. 

"That  every  Englishman  should  be  as  free  as  his 
own    thoughts,"   boldly    responded   Carleton,    paying 


98  WOODBOURNE. 

no  heed  to  Alloway's  admonitory  frown.  Far  from 
showing  any  displeasure,  the  Master  looked  with 
involuntary  admiration  at  the  youthful  patriot,  as 
he  stood  before  him  with  lofty  air  and  defiant 
mien,   "all   his   country   beaming  in   his  face." 

"Well,  well,"  said  he  hastily,  "every  man  must 
judge  for  himself  what  is  his  duty  in  such  a  case. 
I  confess  I  have  not  studied  the  merits  of  the 
controversy,  and  if  I  had  this  is  no  time  for  us  to 
dispute  about  it.  Your  boat  is  ready.  Adieu,  gen- 
tlemen; may  we  meet  again  under  a  happier 
star."  Saying  whieli  he  escorted  them  to  the  ship's 
side  and  saw  them  safely  bestowed  in  Mike's  boat, 
which  the  mate  had  furnished  with  a  new  set  of 
oars  and  a  large  piece  of  sail  cloth. 

"That  for  your  pilot  fee,  Mr.  Burke,"  said  the 
Master,  tossing  him  a  leathern  pouch  which  chinkled 
as  it  fell  at  his  feet.  "'  In  this  bundle  is  something 
for  the  good  dame,  old  ship-mate,"  said  Saunders, 
giving  him  a  parting  salute  as  he  sprang  up  the 
ladder.  Mike  was  so  disconcerted  that  ere  he  could 
find  words  to  invoke  the  blessings  of  his  patron 
saint  on  the  generous  donors,  his  boat  had  fallen  a 
cable  length  astern  of  the  vessel,  which  with  all 
her  sails  set  was  speeding  away  at  a  rate  which 
made  good  that  boastful  claim  that  her  name  im- 
plied. He  sat  for  a  moment  gazing  at  her  in  mute 
admiration,  then  bending  to  his  oars,  he  pulled 
vigorously   for   the   Endeavor. 

"AVhat's  to  be  done  now,  Dick,"  asked  Carleton, 
when  they  Avere  again   on  board  of  the  schooner. 

"Well,"  replied  Alloway,  "I  sujipose  we  shall 
have  to   wait  here   until    the  Katrine  comes  along.' 


wooDBOUi:x£.  99 

*'TVliy  not  get  under  weigh  and  go  to  meet 
her  ?''  demanded  his  friend,  '•  she  cannot  be  many 
miles  off. ' 

"  You  forget  I  am  not  captain  here  ;  we  mn^t 
see  Braun — but  what  is  that  coming  round  tlie 
tlie  point   yonder — a   sail,   by  Jove." 

Carleton  looked  eagerly  in  the  direction  he 
pointed.  '•  Psha  I"  said  ke,  'Mt  is  only  another 
schooner ;   see,   she   is   standing   this   way." 

*-I  know  that  vessel  well,"  said  Braun,  who  had 
joined  them  ;  *•'  it's  Mr.   Gordon's   Cliarity,^^ 

In  a  little  while  she  was  in  speaking  distance, 
running  briskly  before  the  wind,  which  had  now 
freshened   into  a  steady   gale. 

'•Where  are  you  from,"  shouted  Alloway  to  the 
man  at  the    helm. 

•'Up   the  river  a  piece,"  was  the   reply. 

"Seen  anything  of  the  Katrine f^ 

"Gone;  out  o'  the  Capes  by  this  time,"  vocifer- 
ated the  man,  with  a  sweep  of  his  disengaged  hand 
to  emphasize  the    words. 

A  thunder- clap  could  not  have  startled  them 
more  than  this  unexpected  announcement.  It  lit- 
erally took  avray  Alloway's  breath  and  ere  he  re- 
gained it,  the  vessel  was  out  of  ear-shot.  Carleton 
was  the  first  to   speak. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Mr.  Burke,"  said 
he,  addressing  the  old  sailor. 

Mike  was  standing  up  in  his  boat  in  a  listening 
attitude,  having  suspended  half  way  the  act  of 
taking  a  chew  of  tobacco.  In  answer  to  Carleton's 
question,  he  gravely  shook  his  head,  twisted  his 
features    into    a    woefully    ridiculous    grimace,  and, 


100  WOODBOURKE. 

biting  off  an  immoderate  slice  of  pigtail,  betook 
himself  to  rolling  up  the  sail  cloth  into  a  compact 
bundle. 

"  Tantalizing  to  say  the  least,"  continued  Carle- 
ton,  *-'all  oar  trouble  for  nothing.  Come,  Dick,  a 
truce  to  that  doleful  music;  yoa  cannot  whistle 
your  rover  back,  let's  go  home." 

"But,  I  say,  young  gents,"  chimed  in  the  skip- 
per,  "what  am   I   to   do  with   him?^ 

"Him!   who?"   said   Dick. 

"  The  party,  you  know,  Mr.  Eichard,  as  I  fetched 
here." 

DicJc. — "  Oh,  you  mean  that  Scotchman  ;  where  the 
devil  is  he?" 

Braun. — "Fast  asleep  in   the  cabin." 

Dick. — "There's  only  one  thing  you  can  do  with 
him,  take  him   back  where  he  came   from." 

Carleton   (asidej. — "'  Or  throw  him  overboard." 

Braun. — '^But  don't  you  think  I  ought  to  wake 
him  up." 

Dick  (with  some  asperity). — "By  no  means. 
Come,  hurry  up  and  let's  be  off.  Confound  the 
stupid  fellow,     he  is    enough    to  provoke    a   saint." 

"Especially  when  he  happens  to  be  in  a  very 
unsaintly  humor,"  said  the  vivacious  Carleton, 
"sorry  come  off  this  from  our  glorious  expedition, 
Dickon;  *home  without  boots  and  in  foul  weather, 
too,  how  'scapes   he  ?'  " 

"You  make  a  jest  of  everything,  Harry,"  said 
Dick,  in  a  tone  of  rebuke,  "please  forbear,  this  one 
time;   I   am   in    no    veiu   to  relish  your  pleasantry." 

"  Xot  another  word  will  I  speak,  old  fellow ;  I 
would  not  hurt  your  feelings  for  the  world ;  I  had 
no  idea  you   took   things   so   much   to  heart." 


WOODBOURNE. 


101 


It  was  ind.^ed  a  sore  disappointniGnt  to  Alloway. 
A  moment  ago  tlie  sky  was  bright  with  the 
promise  of  joy  to  the  loved  ones  at  Clifton  and 
Bonhill;  now  it  was  overcast  again— "  all  dark  and 
barren   as   a  rainy  sea." 


1^ 


9* 


CHAPTER    IX. 


EVER  Ijcfore  had  Lucy  Gnicme  seen  lier 
father  so  strangely  agitated  as  he  was  on 
getthig  back  from  Clifton.  Strive  as  he 
might  to  assume  his  usual  serene  deport- 
ment, it  was  only  too  apparent  that  there  was 
something  of  overmastering  significance  upon  his 
mind.  To  his  daughter's  eager  questioning  he  gave 
scarcely  any  heed,  and  it  was  merely  to  save  his 
politeness  that  he  hurriedly  explained  to  Alloway 
the  purport  of  the  letter  of  which  he  was  tlie 
bearer.  Leaving  the  lovers  in  a  state  of  vexatious 
uncertainty,  he  immediately  souglit  his  wife's  cham- 
ber. She  had  been  apprised  of  the  misfortune 
which  had  befallen  the  Thompsons,  and  was  anx- 
iously awaiting  his  coming  to  learn  the  full  par- 
ticulars of  the  outrage.  But  she  was  little  prepared 
to  hear  the  astounding  discovery  which  his  confer- 
ence with  Mary  Littleton  had  brought  to  light. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact,  Col.  Littleton's  guest 
was  her  nephew,  child  of  the  brother  whose  supposed 
untimely  fate  she  had  never  ceased  to  mourn.  The 
proof    was     contained     in     a     document    which     ^Ir. 

It   was   a  narra- 


Graeme   had    brought    with     him. 


(102) 


wooDBouR:5rs.  103 

tive,  Tvliicli  had  been  written  by  the  Abbe  Julian 
Soiilo  at  his  pupil's  request,  for  Miss  Littleton's 
especial  gratification.  It's  perusal  will  greatly  assist 
the  reader  in  unravelling  the  tangled  web  of  this 
over   true   history. 

"My  first  visit  to  America,"  said  Father  Soule, 
'*  began  in  the  spring  of  17 —  and  lasted  five  years. 
During  that  time  I  made  the  tour  of  the  European 
settlements  and  explored  divers  regions  where  the 
light  of  civilization  had  not  penetrated,  one  year 
making  the  voyage  full  of  danger  and  hardship  from 
the  great  lakes  down  the  *  Father  of  AVaters'  to 
the  sea.  Thus  I  had  gathered  from  every  source 
within  reach  of  human  observation  and  inquiry,  the 
valuable  mass  of  materials  which  are  embraced  in 
my  principal  vrork.  On  my  return  to  Europe  I  de- 
termined to  put  my  book  to  press  in  Geneva,  and 
while  it  was  being  published  to  fix  my  resi- 
dence in  that  city.  In  going  thither  I  turned 
aside  to  visit  the  old  chateau  in  the  mount-ains  of 
Dauphiny  where  my  father  had  sought  an  asylum 
in  his  last  days  from  the  turmoils  of  ambition  and 
the  caching  vanities  of  a  licentious  court,  and  which 
in  the  division  of  his  wasted  estate  at  his  death 
was  the  only  patrimony  that  fell  to  the  lot  of 
my  eldest  brother.  Louis  was  two  years  older  than 
myself.  He  had  early  embraced  the  profession  of 
arms  and  at  this  time  was  serving  in  Pondicherry 
under  General  Duplieux.  The  place  was  in  the 
most  wretchedly  ruinous  and  desolate  condition,  pre- 
senting a  ghastly  symbol  of  the  havoc  of  war. 
It  lay  in  the  track  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy's  ruth- 
less  inva.^ion    of    this     defenseless   region,     and    was 


104:  WOODBOURi^E. 

visited  with  more  than  ordinary  brutality  because 
of  my  father's  participation  in  the  campaigns  of 
Catinot.  The  work  of  destruction  had  been  fearfully 
complete,  and  not  in  the  lapse  of  so  many  years 
had  the  hand  of  nature  been  able  to  conceal  the 
frightful  ravages  of  fire  and  sword.  As  I  was 
wandering  through  this  scene  of  desolation,  indulg- 
ing the  melancholy  reflections  its  appearance  awak- 
ened, I  was  startled  at  hearing  a  piercing  wail  of  dis- 
tress, which  seemed  to  proceed  out  of  the  ground 
at  my  feet.  Glancing  through  an  aperture  in  the 
broken  wall,  I  discovered  that  .the  noise  came  from 
a  child  that  had  fallen  into  one  of  the  many  vaults 
underneath  the  ruins.  Luckily  tlie  descent  vv'as 
rendered  easy  by  a  dense  mass  of  creeping  vines, 
and  on  being  rescued  the  little  imp'  proved  to  be 
more  scared  than  hurt.  He  was  a  boy  of  some 
four  or  five  summers,  as  I  surmised,  and  in  spite 
of  the  coarseness  and  squator  of  his  raiment  was 
the  most  beautiful  little  cherub  that  had  ever  blessed 
my  sight.  AVhile  I  was  engaged  in  quieting  his  fears 
a  woman,  accompanied  by  a  half-grown  lad,  ap- 
proached. At  sight  of  me  she  stopped  with  a  ges- 
ture of  ala?'m,  but  appai-ently  reassured  by  my  looks 
she  came  forward  and  saluting  me  Avith  resp«ctful 
courtesy,  clasped  the  child  caressingly  to  her  breast, 
at  the  same  time  scolding  him  roundly  for  having 
given  her  such  a  fright.  Slie  was  poorly  though  de- 
cently clad,  and  bore  upon  her  face  such  marked 
traces  of  sickness  and  suffering,  as  instantly  excited 
my  warmest  sympathy.  Entering  into  conversation 
with  her,  I  learned  that  she  was  the  A\ife  of  a  poor 
herdsman  who  lived  in  a  glen   of  the   mountains  not 


WOODBOURXE.  105 

far  olf.  Their  family  consisted  of  five  children  of 
their  own  and  this  little  waif,  that  came  she  knew 
not  whence.  His  history  was  summed  up  in  a  few 
words.  She  was  alone  at  the  chalet  one  morning 
with  her  children,  when  she  Ava5  surprised  by  the 
entrance  of  a  man — a  stranger  of  such  a  wild  and 
disordered  appearance  that  at  sight  of  him  she  was 
at  first  gi'eatly  alarmed.  But  his  piteous  manner 
and  miserable  plight  soon  aroused  her  w^omanly 
compassion,  which  increased  when  she  saw  that  he 
carried  in  his  arms  a  child  whom  he  caressed  and 
fondled  in  the  tenderest  manner.  Of  his  language 
she  comprehended  hardl}^  a  word,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  he  made  her  understand  that  he 
wished  her  to  lake  care  of  the  child  while  he  went 
on  a  short  journey.  After  some  hesitation  she 
yielded  to  his  vehement  entreaties  and  he  went 
away,  never  to  return.  She  knew  nothing  more  of 
the  boy  except  that  his  Christian  name  was  Edward. 
The  "woman's  story  greatly  enhanced  the  interest 
which  the  sight  of  her  lovely  charge  had  inspired 
in  my  breast.  I  passed  the  night  at  an  inn  in  a 
neighboring  hamlet.  In  the  morning  I  sent  for  the 
peasant  and  offered  to  relieve  him  of  this  unlooked- 
for  burthen  upon  his  scanty  means.  He  readily 
assented  to  the  proposal,  on  account  of  the  j)re- 
carious  state  of  his  wife's  health,  and  thus  I  ob- 
tained possession  of  the  dearest  object  of  my  life. 
*•  Years  fly  past.  Edward  Soule — by  which  name 
he  has  come  to  be  known — is  now  in  his  fourteenth 
year  and  fully  justiQes  the  care  and  painstaking  of 
his  education.  Up  to  this  time  he  has  been  my  con- 
stant    companion    and   I    have    been     his   only    pre- 


106  WOODBOUKiH"E. 

ceptor.  Observing  the  briglitness  of  liis  parts,  I  de- 
termined to  give  him  every  advantage  in  my  power 
to  obtain  the  highest  intellectual  training.  With 
that  view  he  w^as  placed  at  the  college  in  Fribourg. 
There  he  made  rapid  advances  in  all  his  studies  and 
surpassed  even  my  sanguine  expectations.  His  vaca- 
tions were  spent  in  travelling  through  Italy  and 
visiting  the  principal  cities  of  France  and  Germany. 
In  these  hours  of  relaxation,  I  sedulously  refrained 
from  exercising  undue  restraint  upon  his  inclinations, 
leaving  him  free  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  desires; 
although  I  took  pains  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  my 
large  experience  of  the  world  and  commerce  with  all 
sorts  of  people,  and  sought  every  fitting  occasion  to 
direct  his  attention  to  the  general  scene  of  misery, 
destitution,  ignorance  and  vice  which  saluted  him  on 
every  hand,  and  to  point  out  the  source  of  them, 
in  the  evils  of  bad  government  in  Church  and  State. 
All  the  timo  my  thoughts  dwelt  upon  America  as 
the  future  theatre  of  his  ambition  and  I  was  anx- 
iously looking  forward  to  the  completion  of  his 
scholastic  education,  when  we  woukl  together  depart 
for  our   ultimate   destination. 

"It  was  Edward's  last  year  at  Fribourg — the  au- 
tumn of  17 — I  had  gone  from  Paris,  wliere  I  w\as 
then  living,  to  meet  him,  and  we  were  returning 
home  by  slow  stages  on  foot.  The  first  night  after 
leaving  Geneva  we  were  constrained  to  seek  accom- 
modation at  the  dwelling  of  a  family  of  the  supe- 
rior class  of  peasantry.  It  was  situate  in  a  glen 
of  the  mountains,  in  the  midst  of  a  region  of  unpar- 
alleled beauty  and  grandeur.  In  the  room  in  which 
we   slept,  I  was  not   a   little  surprised  to  find  among 


WOODBOURXE.  107 

a  number  of  other  books,  an  odd  volume  in  English 
of  the  works  of  David  Hume;  it  was  well  worn 
and  profusely  annotated.  At  breakfost  next  morn- 
ing I  inquired  of  mj  host  how  he  came  by  this 
contraband  property.  He  cheerfully  explained  the 
mystery.  It  belonged,  he  said,  to  a  famous  English 
traveller,  who  some  years  before  had  been  an  inmate 
and  welcome  guest  at  his  home.  He  was  a  great 
student,  constantly  occupied  with  his  books;  yet  a 
person  of  the  gentlest  and  most  winning  manners 
and  after  his  own  fashion,  of  the  most  exemplary 
and  pious  habits.  There  was  nothing  in  his  nature 
which  savored  of  misanthropy  or  assceticism.  It  was 
not  from  aversion  to  the  society  of  his  fellows  that 
he  sought  this  lovely  and  sequestered  spot,  Avhere 
he  could  pursue  in  calmness  and  quiet  the  investi- 
gations of  science  and  philosophy  on  which  he  ap- 
peared to  be  so  deeply  intent.  For  a  year  or  more 
the  stranger,  whose  name  was  Metcalf,  resided  here 
devoting  himself  to  his  studies  and  mingling  in  the 
nameless,  unnumbered  joys  of  this  simple-minded 
family.  All  of  a  sudden  he  fell  alarmingly  ill, 
betraying  symptoms  of  distressing  mental  troubles. 
A  physician  was  called  in  who  enjoined  absolute 
cessation  from  his  accustomed  work  and  to  enforce 
the  prescription,  made  the  cotter  secrete  his  lodger's 
books.  Greatly  to  the  joy  of  his  humble  friend,  the 
patient  after  hovering  for  months  on  the  brink  of 
eternity,  was  recalled  to  life.  Soon  he  grew  well 
enough  to  travel  again,  and  by  the  advice  of  the 
leech  started  on  [i  tour  through  the  northern 
provinces  of  Italy.  From  that  day  nothing  had  been 
heard  of  him. 


108  WOODBOURXE. 

^^  Pursuing  our  journey,  on  the  following  night  we 
arrived  at  the  famous  convent  founded  by  St. 
Bruno,  which  is  known  as  the  Grande  Chartreuse. 
Here  I  was  persuaded  to  tarry  several  days,  in 
order  to  give  Edward  an  opportunity  to  view  the 
majestic  scenery,  the  sight  of  which,  said  an  Eng- 
lish traveller,  would  awe  an  atheist  into  belief  with- 
out the  help  of  other  argument.  Happening  to 
relate  to  the  Vicar  what  had  befallen  us  at  the 
cotter's,  I  was  surprised  to  obtain  from  him  a  fur- 
ther account  of  the  interesting  stranger.  He  was 
the  same  person,  who  some  years  ago  had  stopped 
at  the  Monastery,  having  been  taken  suddenly  ill 
on  the  road.  His  disease  assumed  a  violent  form 
and  his  life  was  despaired  of  for  weeks.  He  did 
not  die;  but  his  health  was  so  terribly  shattered 
that  he  vras  in  an  agony  of  dread  lest  he  should 
not  hold  out  to  get  to  his  home  which  was  in 
America.  His  name  was  Richard  Metcalf.  Often 
in  the  delirium  of  fever,  he  raved  wildly  about  a 
child  which  he  imagined  to  be  lost  and  the  words 
Conrad,  Campabello,  were  repeatedly  on  his  lips. 
When  ho  was  recovering  he  revealed  to  the  father 
who  attended  him,  and  who  had  since  died,  the 
matter  which  was  weighing  on  his  mind.  The 
Vicar  could  not  remember  the  particulars  of  the 
stor}',  farther  than  that  it  related  to  an  unfortu- 
nate English  adventurer,  in  the  service  of  the  King 
of  [N'aples,  who  went  by  the  name  of  Campabello. 
He  had  secretly  espoused  a  noble  lady,  connected 
with  the  ancient  family  of  Torella.  Her  name  was 
Constance  Conrad.  This  marriage,  when  discovered, 
had    given    mortal    oScmce    to     some     of  the     lady's 


WOODBOURXE.  109 

relatives,  to  escape  the  yengeance  of  whom,  Campa- 
bello,  with  his  Avife  and  chikl  were  forced  to  fly 
from  Xaples.  Afterwards  the  hidy  had  died  under 
the  most  harrowing  circumstances,  and  the  man 
and  chikl  were  believed  to  have  sought  refuge  in 
the   vicinity  of  Grenoble. 

*' These  incidents  did  not  impress  me  at  the  time 
as  having  any  especial  significance ;  but  in  a  little 
while  they  were  brought  back  vividly  to  my  recol- 
lection. On  arriving  at  Paris,  to  my  inexpressible 
joy,  I  found  Louis  there.  It  was  our  first  meeting 
after  a  separation  of  more  than  twenty  years.  To 
him  I  introduced  my  protege,  in  whose  favor  he 
instantly  became  much  interested  and  whose  ro- 
mantic history  enlisted  his  warmest  sympathv. 
There  was  somothing  in  Edward's  appearance,  he 
told  me,  which  reminded  him  of  a  former  associ- 
ate— an  English  oflicer  at  one  time  in  the  retinue 
of  Prince  Charles  Edward,  in  whose  desperate  un- 
dertaking Louis  had  taken  part.  The  name  of  this 
person  was  Henry  Markham,  though  here  he  had 
assumed  that  of  Beauchamp.  Louis  tried  to  prevail 
on  him  to  enter  the  French  army,  but  he  refused, 
saying  that  he  could  not  consent  to  draw  his 
svrord  against  his  countrymen.  They  parted;  Louis 
iroimr  to  India,  where  in  a  short  while,  he  learned 
tliat  his  friend  had  gone  to  Genoa  to  seek  his  for- 
tune under  the  banner  of  Charles  the  Bourbon, 
King  of  Xaples.  Beauchamp,  Campabello,  the  names 
were  identical.  Then  the  stranger's  mention  of  the 
lost  child.  I  had  long  despaired  of  ever  solving 
the  mystery  of  Edward's  birth,  but  here  was  a  clue 
at     last.      I     had    a    friend   in    Naples,    one    Xicolo 

10 


110  WOODBOUENE. 

Spinelli,  in  ^vliom  T  could  implicitly  confide.  To 
him  I  wrote.  In  a  few  days  his  answer  came.  It 
fully  confirmed  the  Vicar's  tale  of  what  happened 
to  Campabello  in  Naples.  Of  the  subsequent  fate 
of  the  fugitives,  Spinelli  knew  nothing.  The  date 
of  their  flight  was  no  great  while  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  man  and  child  at  the  peasant's 
hut  in  Dauphiny.  Could  he  have  been  Campa- 
bello, was  the  first  question  I  asked  myself.  Xext, 
I  was  puzzled  to  conjecture  in  what  manner  the 
American  had  learned  their  history.  To  find  him, 
if  living,  was  the  only  recourse  left  to  me.  In  my 
perplexity  I  knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  when 
assistance  come  to  me  from  an  unlooked-far  quar- 
ter. There  chanced  to  be  in  Paris  an  English 
gentleman,  with  whom  I  had  had  some  correspond- 
ence. His  name  was  Asburton.  To  him  I  made 
known  the  matter  which  concerned  me  so  deeply. 
He  was  well  acquainted  Avith  the  family  to  Avhich 
Edward's  father  belonged,  and  gave  me  an  interest- 
ing account  of  the  troubles  which  had  beset  them. 
At  his  suggestion  I  went  to  London  and  sought 
an  interview  with  Sir  William  ]^Iavkham.  His  ex- 
traordinary behavior  surprised  and  disconcerted  me 
be3'ond  measure.  Before  I  had  even  stated  the 
purpose  of  my  mission,  he  brok'c  out  in  a  violent 
fit  of  unaccountable  rage.  *I  know  Avliat  you  are 
come  for,'  he  exclaimed;  'you  are  the  priest  who 
foimd  that  spurious  bantling;  it  i.3  all  an  infamous 
Jesuit  plot;  begone  instantly  from  my  presence.' 
Thus  insolently  repulsed,  I  made  haste  back  to 
Taris,  having  gained  nothing  by  my  visit  to  Lon- 
don,  except   the    knowledge   that  Sir   William   ]\rark- 


"WOODBOUnXE,  111 

ham  had  become  possessed  of  the  secret  which  I 
sought  to  obtain.  Coukl  he  have  seen  Mr.  Metcalf? 
Of  him  I  coukl  get  no  tidings.  The  aiitnmn  was 
now  far  advanced.  It  had  been  arranged  that  Ed- 
ward and  I  shouhl  depart  for  America  early  in 
the  spring.  But  circumstances  of  a  political  char- 
acter, which  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  reveal,  made 
it  necessary  far  me  to  proceed  forthwith  to  Phila- 
delphia. Leaving  Edward  wdth  Louis,  I  set  out 
accordingly.  Wliat  afterwards  befell,  he  can  best 
relate." 


CHAPTER   X. 


T  Y/as  a  busy  morning  "with  Mr.  Murdoch 
McKittrick,  head  clerk  of  Ballantine  & 
Co.,  at  Yeocomico  Store.  Besides  an  un- 
precedented accumulation  of  letters,  Avhich 
demanded  his  attention,  there  vras  the  yearly  list 
of  balances  to  be  made  up.  And  in  addition  to 
these  weighty  tasks,  which  belonged  exclusively  to 
his  especial  province,  his  supervision  was  required 
in  assorting  and  getting  into  ship- shape,  a  large, 
bulky  miscellaneous  cargo  of  goods,  wares  and  mer- 
chandize, .  which  had  been  brought  by  the  Endeavor 
from  divers  places  up  the  river.  AVith  characteristic 
prudence  and  forecast,  the  shrewd  senior  partner  of 
the  firm  had  determined  to  lay  in  a  large  stock 
of  such  commodities  of  general  use  and  demand,  as 
Avould  be  exceedingly  hard  to  procure  in  the  prob- 
able event  of  an  entire  interruption  of  commercial 
intercourse  with  the  outside  world,  and  as  a  goodly 
number  of  his  countrymen  were  anxious  to  close 
out  their  business  before  leaving  for  the  old  coun- 
try, he  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  thus 
afforded  to  purchase  on  advantageous  terms,  sucli 
articles  as  he  wanted.  Hence  the  extraordinary  dis- 
play   of   barrels,   boxes,    bales    and    bundles,    to    say 

(112) 


WOODBOUKXi:.  113 

nothing  of  a  straggling  host  of  loose  lumber,  which 
blocked  up  every  available  space  in  the  large  to- 
bacco warehouse,  and  which  two  brisk  lads  were 
trying  to  **' arrange  in  order  and  dispose  with  grace" 
according  to  Mr.  ^IcKittrick's  instructions.  In  his 
own  person,  that  gentleman  was  a  pattern  of  the 
neatness,  method  and  system  which  he  so  rigidly 
inculcated  upon  his  underlings.  He  had  received  a 
thorough  training  in  the  counting-house  in  Glasgow 
and  was  versed  in  all  the  details  of  the  business. 
Invested  with  ample  authority  in  the  absence  of  his 
chief,  he  maintained  the  strictest  order  and  disci- 
pline. His  motto  was  a  place  for  everything  and 
everything  in  its  place.  He  had  no  toleration  for 
untidy  and  slovenly  habits  of  dress  or  of  careless 
and  slip-shod  ways.  Though  addicted  to  the  preva- 
lent vice  of  taking  snuff,  and  continually  dipping 
into  the  inkstand,  not  a  speck,  spot  or  stain  of  either 
could  be  detected  on  his  immaculate  plum-colored 
clothes,  pearl  grey  stockings  and  cambric  ruffles. 
Working  vigorously  aAvay  at  his  desk,  with  an 
occasional  vigilant  glance  at  the  operations  of  his 
subalterns,  he  was  fast  clearing  off  the  formidable 
score  when  he  was  suddenly  accosted  by  his  em- 
ployer who  had  come  into  the  counting-room  un- 
perceived  by  him. 

'•'Well,  Murdoch,  hard  at  it  I  see;  I  hope  you 
have  gotten  everything  arranged  so  that  I  can  set 
out   for  Williamsburg  to-day  ?" 

"What  time   do   you    start,  sir?'  asked    the   clerk. 

"Early  this  afternoon,"   replied   Mr.  Ballantine. 

'•'All   will   be  ready,  sir,''  said   Murdoch. 

10* 


114  •  WOODBOURXE. 

"Anytliing  of  especial  importance  this  morning?" 
inquired   the  merchant. 

"I  have  contents  of  several  letters,  which  require 
immediate  answers,"  replied  the  clerk,  taking  up  a 
bundle   from  the   desk. 

J/r.  B. — '^Well,  let's  hear  what  they  have  to 
say." 

Murdoch  (reads). — "Dr.  Steptoe  wishes  to  know  the 
whereabouts  of  the  negro  man,  Ayr,  wdio  was  given 
him  by  Mr.  Hugh  Hamilton ;  also,  whether  his 
brother  James  can  have  the  vessel  to  carry  his  over- 
seer and  family  to  Pohiek." 

Mr.  B. — "Answer:  Ayr  is  at  Chaptico  with  Mr. 
Fergusson;  the  E7ideavor  is  engaged  to  take  a  load 
of  corn  for  Col.  Lee  from  Kingcapsico  to  Stratford ; 
after  whicli,  it  is  at  Col.  Steptoe's  service.  Which 
reminds  me  to  say,  send  a  message  to  William 
Callis  to  come  to-morrow  and  overhaul  tlie  schooner; 
Braun  says  she  needs  some  repairs  bodily;  also, 
make  a  note  to  charge  Dr.  Steptoe  with  £15,  paid 
him  for  inoculating  my  wife  and  daughters  and 
two  negroes." 

Murdoch. — "  Inspector  Crabb  writes  to  ask  whether 
he  must  charge  you  or  Mr.  Hague  with  fees  for 
inspecting  and  shipping  the  lot  of  tobacco  sent  to 
Philadelphia  in   the    Friendship.'^ 

Mr.  ^.—"Answer:  Charge  me,  and  tell  him  to 
send   us   all   the   casks   he  has   on   hand." 

Murdoch. — "Sheriff  Rochester  says  he  will  meet 
you  without  fail  at  ISTaylor's  hole,  and  desires  you 
will  bring  list  of  persons  who  have  paid  you  their 
levies  and  taxes ;  he  could  not  serve  the  ca  sa 
against  Fisher,  lie  having  absconded  for  parts  un- 
known." 


TVOODBOURXE.  115 

Mr,  B, — '-The  rascal;  but  I'll  have  Fim  yet. 
Very  well;  Tvhat's   next." 

Murdoch. — '•'  Mr.  Benjamin  Eiist  wants  twelve 
liogslieads  of  rum;  refers  to   Col.    George   Lee." 

Mr.  B. — "Ilumpli!  a  cool  request;  we  have  just 
sent  him  six  hogsheads;  sorry  to  decline;  orders 
ahead  for  all  we   can  spare." 

Murdoch. — "Here  is  memorandum  of  sundries  to 
be  gotten  in  AVilliamsburg  (reads) :  Item — For  Parson 
Smith  1  dozen  prayer-books,  2  ditto  testaments." 
{Mr.  B. — "Dou't  forget  to  charge  him  with  £1 
10s.  paid  Collector  Marmaduke  in  part  of  his 
salary  as  minister.'*)  '-Item — For  Mr.  John  Tur- 
berville  1  stone-breast  buckle  set  in  gold,  1  pair  sil- 
ver-set knee-buckles,  1  calfskin  that  will  make  four 
jiairs  of  shoes,  have  watch  repaired."  {Mr.  B. — 
"Send  him  word  about  that  riding  chair;  I  have 
had  several  applications  for  it.")  "Item — For  Mr- 
Wardrobe,  get  school-books  mentioned  in  list;  pay 
his  subscription  for  Virginia  Gazette.''^  {Mr.  B. — 
"  Charge  him  with  cost  of  saddle,  bridle  and  sad- 
dle-cloth, which  he  lost  on  that  frolic  in  Xorthum- 
berland,  £2,  5s.,  and  credit  him  with  12s.  for  school- 
ing Major  Broadwater's  daughter.")  "Item. — Mrs. 
Corbin,  silk  bonnet,  garnet  necklace,  earrings  and 
hunting-saddle  for  daughter  Lettice.  Item — Richard 
Coddun,  tailor's  goose,  10  yards  claret  cloth,  1 
gi'oss  gilt  buttons.  Item — Miss  Eskridge,  curls, 
pounce  box,  hairpin,  3  yards  pea-green  ribbon  and 
1  open-worked  silk  purse.  Item — Mr.  John  "Wash- 
ington, 3  sides  harness  leather,  10  gallons  best 
Jamaica  spirits,  1  English  Dictionary."  {Mr.  B.-^ 
"'  Send  Jot    to   Bushtield  in   the  mornino:  for  a  hind 


116  WOODBOURXE. 

quarter  of  beef/')  Item — Inquire  of  Mr.  Eonald  if 
if  he  has  done  anything  in  Major  affair  and  of  Mr. 
Piitchie  how  much  you  are  bound  with  him  on 
Fauntleroys   account.     Is   there   anything  else,  sir?" 

Mr,  B. — "Xo,  thank  heaven;  how^  nmch  casli  is 
there?" 

Murdoch.— "  SG  Doubloons,  49  half  Iocs,  131  pis- 
toles, £59,  10s.  in  paper  and  £3,  4s.  8d.  in  small 
silver.  There  is,  also,  an  order  of  James  Fisher 
on   'Squire   Lee   for   £110   in   currency.'' 

J/r.  B. — "  That  is  all  I  believe ;  no,  I  was  near 
forgetting  an  important  matter.  I  wish  you  to 
Avrite  to  Mr.  Buchanan  per  the  Boyal  Widoic,  now 
at  Annapolis,  and  request  him  to  explain  to  Mr. 
John  Bland  why  he  did  not  receive  the  last  con- 
signment of  tobacco ;  you  know  the  cause  of  the 
accident;  also,  to  see  the  underwriters  about  insur- 
ance on  goods  lost  by  the  foundering  of  the  Rctp- 
jmliannoclc.  Now,  give  me  the  list  of  balances  due 
at  Nanticock,  and  then  you  may  go  on  with  yours* 
What   have   you   got   there,  Jerry?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  one  of  the  young 
men  we  have  mentioned,  who  entered  with  a 
crumi^led   juece   of  paper   in   his   hand. 

"It  is  a  note  for  you,  sir,"  replied  the  lad; 
"Mr.  Claughton  sent  it,  with  a  message  that  it 
had  been  brought  to  him  last  night  through  mis- 
take." 

Mr.  Ballantine  ran  his  e^-es  hastily  over  the 
queer-looking  missive.  "  Eh  ?  what's  this  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed, knitting  his  heavy  brows  in  evident  dis- 
pleasure  as   he  slowly  repeated    t]ie   contents.     "Im- 


WOODBOURXE.  117 

portant  and  pressing  business  in  Lancaster;  learned 
by  merest  chance  that  vessel  goes  round;  takes  lib- 
erty of  passage  in  her,  as  speediest  and  most  agree- 
able way  of  getting  there;  hopes  he  will  be  par- 
doned; his  friend,  Mr.  Alloway,  accompanies  him. 
Was  ever  the  like  of  his  impudence.  Did  you  de- 
liver my  order   to  Braun,  Murdoch?" 

"I  did,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"  Positively  on  no  account  to  permit  another 
passenger  to  come  on  board  of  the  vessel?" 

"Those  Avere  the  very  -words,  sir." 

"  Discharge  him  on  the  spot,  as  soon  as  he  gets 
back;  that  is,  if  he  ever  does  come  back;  there's 
no  questioning  what  mad  freaks  these  wild  callants 
are  up  to ;  ten  to  one  they  are  captured.  I  am 
not  surprised  at  that  boy's  conduct;  but  I  did 
give  Alloway  credit  for  having  at  least  a  gi'ain  of 
discretion." 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  their  intention,  sir?" 
the  clerk  ventured  to   ask. 

"  Intention  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Ballantine ;  "  why,  to 
meddle  with  what  does  not  in  the  least  concern 
theuL  It  would  serve  them  right  if  Dent  takes 
them  along  with  him  to  Glasgow.  But  who  knows 
what  danger  they  may  run  the  vessel  into  ?  I 
would  not  have  her  miscarry  for  twice  her  value. 
Where  is  Job  Halliday?  I  must  send  a  note  to 
Mr.  Graeme  about  this  matter?" 

Miirdocli. — "'He  has  not  been  here  this  morning, 
I   am   afraid  he  is  on  one   of  his  long   sprees." 

Mr.  B. — "AVhat,  again,  after  the  warning  I  gave 
him?     Pay   him   his  wages    and   let   him   go;    truly, 


118 


WOODBOURi^E. 


I  am  beset — call  Jerry;  but  never  mind,  I'll  go 
myself  to  see  Graeme.  Put  the  ])apers  and  money 
np  securely  in  one  package  and  bring  tliem  to  the 
house  punctually  at  two   o'clock." 

AYith    wliicli     parting    injunction     tLo    indignant 
merchant  left    Mr.  McKittrick  to  finish   his  task. 


CnAPTETv    XI. 


-L-,ii--  S  we  have  seen,  tlie  cruise  of  our  madcap 
l^/i'W'J  adventurers  had  turned  out  very  different 
from  anything  which  their  liveliest  ima- 
ginations had  depicted.  Meantime  their 
friends  at  Bonliill  were  in  total  ignorance  of  their 
moyements.  In  fact,  Miss  Lucy  Graeme  was  sorely 
put  out  and  she  had  good  reason  for  the  displeas- 
ure. Mr.  Piichard  Alloway  had  failed  to  keep  an 
imperative  engagement.  She  had  particularly  re- 
quested him  the  day  before  at  church  to  come 
over  that  afternoon  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Carleton, 
and  take  his  fair  cousin  and  herself  out  riding. 
The  diversion,  she  thought,  would  be  good  for 
Mary,  and  Dick  agreed  with  her ;  his  last  words 
were  that  she  might  certainly  look  for  them  to  be 
punctually  on  hand  at  the  appointed  hour.  It  was 
long  come  and  gone;  another  and  another  had 
passed  and  still  they  were  not  come;  nor  had  a 
message  been  sent  to  explain  the  seeming  delin- 
quency. All  this  time  she  and  Mary  had  been 
patiently  waiting  in  the  parlor,  equipped  for  the 
jaunt;  the  horses  Avere  ready  saddled  at  the  rack, 
and   now    the    shadows    from   the   hills   were   gradu- 


(119) 


120  WOODBOURXE. 

ally  creeping  over  field  and  forest  and  her  last 
glance  through  the  window  gave  reiterated  assur- 
ance that  her  expectations  were  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment. Mary  saw  the  cloud  on  her  friend's 
face,  usually  so  bright  and  wreathed  with  smiles; 
but  she  thought  it  best  not  to  appear  to  notice 
her  vexation. 

"You  had  as  well  send  the  horses  back  to  the 
stable,  Lucy  dear,"  said  she ;  "  something  has  hap- 
pened to  detain  the  gentlemen;  cousin  Eichard  is 
not  wont  to  play  truant.  It  matters  little  about 
the  ride;  that  is  no  rarity  to  me;  only  I  did  wish 
to  go  and  see  Mrs.  Thompson,  poor  woman ;  Archie's 
mishap   has   been   a  terrible   shock   to   her." 

Lucy. — '-'Does  she  know^  what  Mr.  Osborn  said 
about  it?" 

Mary. — "  0  yes ;  papa  informed  Mr.  Thompson 
yesterday.  I  have  no  patience  with  that  old  bear; 
he  is  perfectly  odious;  think  of  his  still  declaring 
that  your  cousin  Edward  is  the  cause  of  the  trou- 
ble, after   being  told  who   he   is." 

Lucy. — ''And  you  really  believe  that  no  harm 
has   befallen  him — cousin   Edward?" 

Mary. — "Certainly;  why  should  I  fear  for  him, 
well  knowing  that  he  and  Captain  Dent  are  on 
the  best   terms?" 

Lucy. — "But  whv  did  he  go  away  on  the  ves- 
sel?" 

J/t7r?/.— " Who  says  that  lie  did?  Mr.  Osborn 
makes  no  mention  of  him  in  his  letter  to  vour 
fatlier." 

Lticy. — "  What,  tlien,  lias  become  of  liim  ?  " 

Mary   shook   her  head.     "These  are  stirring  times, 


WOODBOURls^E.  121 

dear/'  she  evasively  replied;  "Ave  literally  know  not 
what  a   day  or  an   hour  may   bring   forth." 

Lucy  was  evidently  not  satisfied  with  the  hap- 
hazard explanation.  She  became  on  a  sudden 
silent  and    thoughtful. 

"Mamma,"  she  presently  said,  "knew  Sir  William 
Markham  when  a  child  and  was  very  fond  of 
him — so  unlike   his   father,  she  thought." 

Mary. — "He  is  said  to  be  a  person  of  superior 
ability  and  is  generally  popular;  indeed,  there  is 
nothing  to  his  discredit  that  I  am  avvare  of  ex- 
cept his  unnatural  behavior  to  your  cousin  Ed- 
Vv-ard,  for  which  I  can  iiiKigine  no  palliation  or  ex- 
cuse. He  knew  that  every  word  he  said  was  false, 
for  it  is  perfectly  evident  from  what  Mr.  Carleton 
told  me  the  other  night  that  he  had  heard  in  some 
way  the  whole  unhappy  story  of  your  uncle's  fate ; 
doubtless  from  the  late  Mr.  Richard  Austin.  Yet 
it  would  seem  that  he  has  repented  of  his  conduct 
in  some  measure  at  last.  Mr.  Buchanan  says  in 
that  letter  which  Mr.  Carleton  fortunately  discov- 
ered, that  he  expressed  unfeigned  regret  for  what 
had  happened  and  assured  him  that  he  would 
make  ample  amends  for  the  wrongs  he  had  done. 
Such  a  declaration,  as  your  father  remarked,  coming 
from  a  man  of  his  high  character  and  standing, 
ought  surely  to  relieve  our  minds  of  all  apprehen- 
sion of  further  serious  trouble  between  these  near 
kinsmen.  Mr.  Graeme  enjoined  me  not  to  say  a 
word  to  your  mother   about  the   quarrel." 

Lucy, — "You  have  never  told  me  exactly  what 
did   fall  out.     Wait   a  moment"    (seeing   that    Mary 


11 


122  WOODBOURNE. 

was  about  to  respond;,  "I  must  have  the  liorses 
put  up." 

That  duty  performed,  "  Now,"  said  she,  resuming 
her  seat  on  the  sofa  at  Mary's  side,  "  tell  me  all 
about  the   fight.'' 

Jf^^r?/.— '"Well,  you  know,  the  Abbe  left  your  cousin 
Edward  in  Paris  with  the  Count  de  Yillieres.  He 
was  greatly  perplexed  to  decide  whether  to  reveal 
to  his  pupil  what  he  had  learned  concerning  his 
parentage.  After  much  debate,  he  determined  to 
entrust  the  matter  to  his  brother's  discretion.  The 
Count  had  conceived  the  strongest  affection  for  Ed- 
ward, both  for  his  own  and  his  father's  sake;  had 
introduced  him  everywhere  in  the  best  circles  of 
Parisian  society,  and  had  given  him  the  benefit 
of  his  instructions  in  what  pertained  to  military 
aiTairs,  politics  and  belles-lettres,  in  all  which  he 
became  thoroughly  proficient.  It  was  some  months 
after  the  Abbe's  departure  before  the  Count  im- 
2)arted  to  him  the  secret  of  his  birth.  His  first  im- 
pulse was  to  go  at  once  to  England  and  seek  an 
understanding  with  Sir  "William  Markham,  being 
convinced  that  the  baronet  knew  who  and  what  he 
was.  From  this  course  the  Count  dissuaded  him, 
not  deeming  it  opportune  or  politic  at  the  moment; 
it  would  be  more  prudent,  he  thought,  to  wait 
until  Sir  AVilliam  had  gone  home  from  London, 
where  he  was  then  attending  in  Parliament.  By 
his  advice  Edward  now  assumed  the  name  of  Con- 
rad, which  belonged  to  his  mother.  Only  to  a  few 
intimate  friends  of  the  Count  was  his  history  made 
known,  and  from  them  he  received  every  mark  of 
courtesy   and  consideration;    so    that     altogether    his 


WOODDOURXE.  123 

sojourn  M-as  as  pleasaut  as  lie  could  desire  Mr. 
Asburtoii,  the  Englishman  of  ^vhom  the  Abbe  tells, 
had  spent  the  winter  in  Paris.  He  purposed  re- 
turning home  early  in  spring,  and  with  the  Count's 
consent  it  was  arranged  that  Edward  slionld  ac- 
company him.  He  resided  in  Cumberland,  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  Z\larkham  Castle.  Soon 
after  his  arrival  there,  Edward  sent  a  message  to 
Sir  AVilliam  Mark  ham  requesting  an  interview.  The 
baronet  acceded  to  his  request,  but  strange  to  say 
designated  a  certain  retired  place  in  the  Park  for 
their  meeting.  The  selection  of  such  an  unusual 
spot  awakened  Mr.  Asbnrton's  suspicion;  he 
advised  Edward  to  take  his  sword  v>itli  him, 
keeping  it  concealed  beneath  his  cloak.  The  pre- 
caution was  well-timed.  Sir  William  Markham  had 
a  deadly  purpose  at  heart  in  making  th^it  appoint- 
ment. They  had  not  exchanged  many  words  before 
the  baronet  began  to  quarrel  with  him,  madly, 
frantically.  He  was  as  one  possessed  of  a  devil. 
He  heaped  on  Edward  every  vile  and  contumelious 
epithet;  called  him  an  impostor;  taunted  him  with 
the  spuriousness  of  his  birth,  and  seeing  him  hesi- 
tate to  draw  his  sword,  scornfully  denounced  him 
as  a  coward.  They  fought;  the  combat  was  fierce 
and  short.  Sir  William  was  overmatched  in  strength 
and  dexterity.  Easily  putting  aside  a  desperate 
lunge  at  his  heart,  Edward  caught  his  adversary's 
weapon  in  his  hand  and  broke  it  in  twain;  then 
he  coolly  ran  him  through  the  body  and  left  him 
lying  for   dead  on   the   ground." 

Lucy   turned  pale  and   shuddered   at  this   graphic 
recital    of    the    duel.      "  Gracious,"    Mary,    she    ex- 


124  WOODBOUIlis'E. 

claimed,  "how  can  you  speak  in  that  cold  blooded 
way  of  anything  so    horrible?" 

"It  would  haye  been  horrible,  dear,  had  the 
baronet  been  killed,*'  replied  Miss  Littleton,  with 
imperturbable  sang-froid;  "it  is  not  pleasant  to 
have  the  life  blood  of  a  fellow-being  on  one's  hand, 
even  when  it  is  shed  in  defence  of  one's  own  life. 
As  it  luckily  happened.  Sir  William  ]!^[arkham  only 
received  the  chastisement  he  justly  merited.  Let 
us   hope   that   he  has   profited  by  the   stern   lesson." 

Lucy. — "  What  became  of  cousin  Edward  after  the 
fight?" 

Mary. — "  Of  course  he  lost  no  time  in  effecting 
his  escape  from  that  dangerous  locality.  In  this 
he  was  aided  by  Mr.  Asburton.  Provided  by  that 
gentleman  vv'ith  a  trusty  guide  and  a  letter  of  in- 
troduction to  the  master  of  the  Katrine,  he  reached 
Glasgow  in  safety,  v/hence  he  at  once  embarked  for 
America.  He  found  Captain  Dent,  as  was  repre- 
sented by  his  kind  English  host,  to  be  a  i:)erson  in 
whom  he  could  implicitly  confide.  On  the  voyage, 
v/hich  was  long  and  stormy,  the  skipper,  between 
whom  and  Mr.  Asburton  there  appeared  to  be  a 
mysterious  tie,  shov/ed  Edward  every  mark  of  civility 
and  attention  to  his  comfort,  and  although  he  was 
exceedingly  reserved  and  guarded  in  his  speech,  it 
was  evident  that  he  had  no  good  will  for  Sir  Wil- 
liam Markham.  At  Annapolis  they  parted  with  the 
warmest  expressions  of  mutual  regard.  So,  you  see, 
I  have  a  very  substantial  reason  for  believing  that 
if  anything  has  gone  wrong  with  your  cousin  Ed- 
ward, it  cannot  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  Captain 
Dent." 


WOODBOURXE.  125 

Lucy. — "Yes,  so  it  seems;  papa,  too,  has  a  high 
regard  for  Captain  Dent  and  does  not  believe  that 
he  has  been  guilty  of  any  Tvrong;  yet  I  cannot 
forgive  him  for  treating  poor  little  Archie  so 
cruelly." 

Mary. — '•'  There  again,  dear,  I  think  you  do  him 
gross  injustice.  lie  is  not  implicated  in  that  sad 
business,  according  to  Mr.  Osborn's  account,  any 
farther  than  to  asseverate  positively  that  the  man 
was  acting  "with  his  full  knowledge  and  consent, 
and  that  he  held  himself  accountable  for  the  trans- 
action to  his  employers  in  Glasgow.  Besides,  he 
pledged  his  solemn  word  to  Mr.  0 shorn  that  so  far 
from  any  mischief  being  intended  to  the  boy,  the 
sequel  Avould  show  that  it  was  the  very  best  thing" 
that   could   have   happened  for  him." 

Lucy. — '-AVell,  I  sincerely  hope  and  trust  that  all 
will  turn  out  as  you  seem  to  anticipate;  but  it  is 
none  the  less  provoking  to  be  kept  so  long  in  sus- 
pense. Come,  let's  go  and  change  our  dresses. 
Stay;  there's  papa's  step  in  the  passage,  perhaps  he 
has  news  of  the   delinqnents." 

Mr.  Graeme  had  been  to  escort  Mr.  Waddell 
part  of  the  way  on  his  homeward  voyage,  and  was 
just  come  back.  Lucy  ran  to  meet  him.  He  was 
grave   and   flurried. 

"What  is  the  matter,  papa?"  asked  Lucy  ten- 
derly, as  she  helped  him  take  off  his  wra^ipings, 
-you   look   worried," 

*''0h,  it's  naething— naething  worth  mentioning," 
said  he,  trying  to  assume  a  careless  tone,  though 
his   face   plainly   denoted   that   there     was   something 


11* 


12G  WOODBOURN'E. 

on  his  mind  -wliicli  he  was  debating  tlie  propriety 
of  making   known.     "  AVhere  is   Mary  ?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  sir,"  replied  that  young  Lady, 
coming  forward;  "if  it  concerns  me,  don't  hesitate, 
I  entreat,  to  speak  freely,  I  can  bear  anything  but 
suspense." 

"  Ye  are  a  braw  lassie,  a  vera  braw  lassie,"  said 
Mr.  Graeme,  kissing  her  and  leading  the  way  back 
to  the  parlor,  the  door  of  which  he  carefully 
closed. 

"Weel,  I  dinna  ken  but  it  is  sae  vera  bad, 
after  all;  aiblins  they  might  hae  consulted  wi'  me 
before  ganging  on   sic  a  wild  goose   chase." 

"They?    Who,   papa?"   asked   Lucy. 

"Who?  why  the  lads  frae  Woodbourne,  to  bo 
sure,"   replied   Mr.    Graeme. 

"  Where  have  they  gone  ? "  eagerly  inquired  both 
the   girls   in   a  breath. 

"Gane?  Where  else,  but  speerin'  after  the 
Katrine  in  your  Cousin  Ballantine's  vessel,  which 
they  took  without  sae  much  as  a  beg  your  leave, 
sir.  He's  angry  enough  about  it,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  wi'   reason ;   it  was   vera  wrang,  vera  wrang." 

"How  did  you  hear  this,  papa?"  asked  Lucy, 
on  whose  pretty  cheeks  the  lily  and  rose  were 
battling  for  supremacy,  while  her  accents  grew 
perceptibly  tremulous  and  the  moisture  gathered  in 
her  lovely  eyes. 

"From  his  own  lips,"  replied  her  father;  "I 
met  him   on   the   road   as   I   was   coming  home.^' 

Lucy  looked  from  him  to  Mary.  To  her  sur- 
prise, that  young  lady  betrayed  in  her  features 
anything     else     than     displeasure.      Her     face    was 


WOODBOUKXE.  127 

flushed,  and  her  eves  kindled  >Nith  a  glow  of 
excitement  Intuitively  she  had  taken  in  the 
meaning  of  the  daring  movement.  It  was  apparent, 
too,  to  her  keen  perception  that  Mr.  Graeme  him- 
self was  secretly  in  sympathy  with  the  adventurers, 
and  was  awkwardly  endeavoring  to  mask  his  real 
feelings. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Graeme,  I  am  so  glad  they  are  gone; 
we   shall  soon   learn   all   about  the  matter." 

"Weel,  wcel,"  said  the  cautious  old  gentleman, 
sliaking  his  head  with  an  air  of  dubiety,  "gin  nae 
ill-luck  betide — wha  the  deil  is  making  that 
racket" — there  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  hall- 
door — "go   and   see,   bairn." 

Lucy  hastened  to  obey;  but  ere  she  reached  the 
door,  it  flew  open  and  revealed  to  their  astonished 
gaze  the  form  and  figure  of  the  person  who  was 
the  subject  of  their  intense  solicitude.  With  an 
unchecked  exclamation  of  delight,  Mary  rushed 
into  her  lover's  extended  arms,  while  Mr.  Graeme, 
quickly  divining  the  situation  of  affairs,  promptly 
drew  his  dauojhter  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


OW,  Sir  Truant,"  said  Mary,  when  the 
transport  of  their  meeting  was  over,  "give 
an  account  of  your  eccentric  conduct. 
AYhat  do  you  mean  by  raising  such  a 
hub-bub  in  our  peaceful  neighborhood,  to  say 
nothing  of   giving  me   such   a  terrible  fright?" 

"  Were  you  then  really  alarmed  about  me,  •  dear- 
est?" naively  inquired   her  lover. 

Mary. — "  To  be  sure  I  was,  and  with  good  rea- 
son.    Do  you  know  what  you   are  accused  of?" 

Ediuard. — ''Anything  very  wrong?" 

Mary. — "In  the  first  place,  it  is  alleged  that 
you  aided  and  abetted  one  Captain  Dent  in  the 
abduction  of   poor  little   Archie." 

EcUuard  (With  affected  indignation). — "Ridiculous; 
"Who  says  so?" 

Mary. — "Never  mind;  it  is  moreover  charged 
that  you  are  nothing  else  but  a  spy,  a  sort  of 
three-headed  Cerberus  of  an  emissary  of  the  great 
triumvirate  of  iniquity,  his  Majesty  of  France,  the 
Pope  of   Ivome  and  the   *old  boy!'" 

Edward  laughed.  "Ah,  I  see  now  in  what  quar- 
ter the  wind  sits;  the  old  tory  has  doubtless  ap- 
plied  to  Colonel   Littleton    for    a  warrant  to  appre- 


(128) 


wooDBornxE.  129 

hend  me  if  found  within  the  four  seas.  Seriously 
speaking,  what  did  3'ou  think  had  become  of  me?" 
Mary. — ''  AVhat  else  could  I  reasonably  conjecture, 
other  than  that  you  had  met  witli  an  unexpected 
detention — possibly  the  Abbe  had  been  prevented 
from  keeping  his  appointment  or  had  changed  his 
plans  and  3'ou  had  been  suddenly  summoned  to  go 
over  the  river.  Of  one  thing  I  was  v/ell  satisfied ; 
you   did  not  go  o:T  on   the   vessel." 

Edward. — "  There  you  mistook ;  I  did  go  away 
on  the  Kairini,  much  against  my  will;  in  a  word, 
I  was  made  prisoner." 

Mary. — "A  prisoner;    how   dared  they  —  " 
Edward. — ''Xay,   dearest,   be  not  disturbed;    as   it 
turned  out  there  vras    no    great  harm   done;    yet  it 
was  a  most    inexplicable    affair;    a   deep    one,   for  a 
surety,   is  that   Captain   Dent." 

Mary. — '^Oh,  do  tell  me  all  about  it." 
Ediuard. — '-'Well,  you  remember  that  when  I 
wrote  to  the  skipper  of  the  Katrine  to  engage  a 
passage  for  the  Abbe,  he  very  kindly  offered  to  send 
a  boat  for  him  to  St.  Inigo's  and  bring  him  across 
the  river  in  time  for  us  to  have  our  desired  in- 
terview and  leave-taking.  "When  I  arrived  at  Yeo- 
comico,  the  good  father  was  not  there.  I  waited 
until  nightfall  and  still  he  came  not.  Naturally, 
I  grew  impatient,  and  hiring  a  boat  set  out  for 
the  vessel.  On  the  way  I  was  met  by  the  Katrine^ s 
yawl,  which  had  been  despatched  for  me.  At  the 
ship's  side  I  was  politely  received  by  the  mate 
and  escorted  to  a  room.  The  Captain,  he  said,  was 
engaged  with  a  pascenger,  and  begged  that  I  would 
excuse  his   seeming    rudeness    in    not    waiting    uj^on 


130  WOODBOUr.NE. 

me  at  once.  The  gentleman  I  expected  to  meet 
was  not  3"et  come;  tliey  were  looking  for  liim 
every  moment,  the  weather  being  so  calm  made  it 
necessary  to  row  every  foot  of  tlie  way.  With  this 
explanation  he  left  me  alone.  Vexed  by  the  delay, 
I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  lockers  and  counted  the 
minutes  until  an  hour  was  gone.  Then  I  rose  and 
took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  floor.  Tired 
of  this,  I  stopped,  and  began  making  an  inspection 
and  inventory  of  the  apartment.  It  was  different 
from  the  one  v>-]]ich  had  been  assigned  to  mo  be- 
fore; it  was  cleanly,  snug  and  comfortable  enough, 
but  it  was  entirely  destitute  of  furniture,  save  a 
couple  of  lockers,  two  berths  and  a  capacious  cup- 
board. This  last  stood  open,  and  on  a  shelf  in  it 
were  refreshments,  which  had  evidently  been  placed 
there  for  my  use  and  behoof.  Like  a  flash  of 
lightning  a  gleam  of  suspicion  shot  through  my 
brain.  I  rushed  to  the  door.  It  was  fast,  locked, 
bolted  and  barred.  I  was  in  a  prison ;  why  and 
for  what  purpose  I  could  not  divine.  Of  one 
thing  I  soon  became  convinced;  my  jailor  had 
efiectually  barred  every  avenue  of  escape ;  I  was 
as  safely  bestowed  as  a  bird  in  a  cage.  Realizing 
this  disagreeable  fact  I  became  in  an  instant  per- 
fectly cool  and  collected,  and  resuming  my  seat  on 
the  locker,  calmly  thought  the  matter  over.  I  had 
but  one  enemy  in  the  world;  this  was  his  con- 
trivance; no  doubt  the  skipper  had  been  suborned 
to  kidnap  me.  Determined  to  make  the  best  of 
circumstances  I  turned  into  one  of  the  berths  and 
went  to  sleep,  and  so  sound  vv'as  my  slumber, 
thanks   to  the   hard  sides   I   had   taken,   that  I  was 


AVOODBOURXE.  13X 

only  awakened  by  hearing  a  loud  noise,  which  I 
discovered  was  made  by  the  turnkey  as  he  slammed 
to  the  door  of  my  dungeon.  The  first  object 
which  greeted  me  was  the  open  cupboard;  in  it  I 
saw  displayed  a  fresh  and  bountiful  supply  of  pro- 
vant,  wine,  biscuits,  conserves,  cold  meats — vic- 
tuals enough  for  a  siege.  At  all  events,  they  did 
not  mean  to  starve  me.  Immediately  I  became  con- 
scious that  the  vessel  was  in  motion,  drifting 
slowly  with  the  tide.  Overhead  all  was  as  still  as 
the  grave;  I  lay  in  the  berth  and  listened  in- 
tently for  hours;  not  a  sound  reached  my  ears 
save  a  smothered  word  or  tvro  of  command  and 
the  occasional  quick  tread  of  a  foot  on  deck.  I 
■had  often  read  of  the  horrors  of  solitary  captivity; 
such  was  to  be  my  lot.  Xevertheless,  I  was  not 
greatly  appalled  at  the  thought.  I  rose,  dressed, 
and  with  unimpaired  appetite,  attacked  the  store  of 
provisions.  Having  breakfasted  heartily,  I  diverted 
mj'self  with  walking  ojiickly  back  and  forth 
in  my  prison-house,  wondering  what  was  ahead  of 
me  and  feigning  an  imaginary  scene  of  extreme 
peril  in  which  I  was  to  act  the  part  of  a  heroic 
martyr,  and  surmising,  if  the  worst  befel,  Avhat  a 
lady,  who  shall  be  nameless,  would  do." 
Mary. — "  Were  you  not  dreadfully  scared  ?" 
Edward. — "  Strange  to  say,  np  to  this  moment  I 
was  not  conscious  of  feeling  the  least  sensation  of 
alarm.  The  situation  was  so  strange  and  unex- 
pected that  it  awakened  intense  curiosity  and  set 
mv  fertile  invention  to  work  to  an  amazinfr  desrree. 
My  character,  as  you  know,  lias  a  decidedly  ro- 
mantic bent   and  I  have   an  inveterate   penchant  for 


132  wooDi50uii:srE. 

adventure.  The  day  wore  on;  it  passed;  another 
night  came;  the  silence  and  solitude  were  unbroken; 
not  a  soul  came  near  me.  I  began  now,  shame  to 
say,  to  grow  nervous  and  fidgety;  the  situation 
was  becoming  intolerably  irksome ;  in  spite  of  all 
I  could  do  I  lost  control  of  my  thoughts;  they 
wandered  wildly  hither  and  thither,  and  all  manner 
of  phantoms  chased  through  my  brain.  Then,  in- 
deed, I  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  misery  of  solitary 
confinement,  shut  out  from  all  converse  with  my 
fellow-man.  It  was  so  oppressively  still.  0,  for  a 
sound  to  break  the  awful  monotony  of  silence. 
Hours  rolled  by  during  which  I  continued  to  pace 
the  room  with  rapid  strid3S.  At  last  relief  came. 
A  shuddering  tremor  ran  through  the  vessel;  then 
a  heaving  motion  up  and  down  and  now  a  bound 
forward;  the  wind  had  suddenly  sprung  up  and  the 
bark  was  speeding  before  it.  I  felt  a  thrill  of  joy 
at  the  change;  here,  at  least,  was  life  and  motion. 
The  wind  increased  to  a  gale;  it  grew  very  cold. 
To  keep  warm  I  went  on  walking  my  round  until 
wearied  with  fatigue,  I  threw  myself  undressed  into 
the  berth  and  in  a  little  while  went  to  sleep. 
Awaking  with  a  start  I  heard  some  one  calling  me 
by  name.  It  was  the  mate;  the  captain,  he  said, 
had  sent  him  to  conduct  me  to  his  cabin.  Hur- 
riedly springing  up  and  composing  my  disordered 
array  I  followed  him.  To  my  surprise  it  was  near 
midday.  The  ship  was  lying  at  anchor  in  the 
middle  of  a  large  river  and  at  her  side  was  a 
schooner  from  which  men  were  transferring  hogs- 
heads of  tobacco.  On  reaching  the  cabin  I  found 
to  my  amazement    and    delight,  not    Dent,   but  the 


WOODBOURlfE.  133 

Abbe,  He  embraced  me  -warmly,  and  ere  I  had 
recovered  from  my  surprise  sufficiently  to  ask  a 
question,  'Heaven,  my  son,'  said  he,  *has  made  me 
the  instrument  of  preventing  a  great  crime ;  how 
or  by  whom  intended  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  re- 
veal. You  must  not  blame  the  skipper;  it  was  all 
a  mistake  on  his  part.  You  are  free;  all  is  ar- 
ranged for  your  return  to  your  friends.  Time 
presses,  in  a  little  while  we  shall  be  again  under- 
way ;  I  have ,  only  a  few  minutes  in  w^hich  to 
speak  a  parting  word.  I  am  going,  as  you  are 
aware,  on  a  voyage  of  uncertain  duration.  My  good 
friend,  Mr.  Carroll,  is  fully  advised  of  my  wishes 
and  plans  as  they  affect  your  welfare.  Confer  freely 
with  him  and  follow  his  advice.  One  thing  more. 
There  is  a  little  boy  on  board  who  has  been  taken 
away  from  his  friends  in  Virginia.  Assure  them, 
in  my  name,  that  he  is  in  safe  hands  and  cannot 
suffer  harm.  Some  day  they  will  know  more  of 
the  matter.' 

"With  a  fervent  blessing  he  bade  me  adieu.  I 
was  lost  in  bewilderment,  and  when  I  regained  my 
senses  I  found  myself  standing  on  the  deck  of  the 
schooner  staring  vacantly  at  the  Kafrinc,  as  with 
outstretched  wings  she  went  sailing  down  the  river." 

Mari/. — "And  you  did  not  once  see  Captain  Dent 
and  don't  know  the  meaning  of  his  inscrutable 
behavior  ?" 

Edward. — '*Xo;  he  was  all  the  time  invisible. 
"Well,  to  make  an  end  of  a  long  story,  I  was  in- 
formed by  the  person  in  charge  of  the  schooner 
that  she  belonged  to  a  Colonel  Gordon,  who  lived 
at  a  place    called    Merry    Point,   in    the    County  of 

12 


134  WOODBOURKE. 

Lancaster,  wliither  he  was  instructed  to  convey  me. 
Before  doing  so,  however,  he  had  to  go  a  short 
way  up  the  river  for  a  load  of  corn.  Consequently, 
I  did  not  reach  Merry  Point  until  this  morning. 
Colonel  Gordon  obligingly  provided  me  with  a  horse 
and  a  guide,  and  here  I  am.  By  the  w^ay,  I 
should  have  mentioned  that  as  we  were  making 
the  landing  we  passed  another  schooner  on  the 
deck  of  which  were  a  group  of  persons,  among 
whom  I  recognized  the  gigantic  figure  of  Mr. 
Eichard  Alloway — Que  diaUe  fait4l  dans  cette 
(jaVere  !  " 

Mary  laughed.  "Well,"  said  she,  "it's  an  Oiu 
saying,  you  know,  one  story  is  good  until  another 
is  told.  It  is  my  turn  now;  prepare  yourself  for 
the  greatest  surprise  you  ever  had  in  your  life. 
But,  no;  I  must  keep  you  a  while  longer  in  sus- 
pense until  I  have  made  you  acquainted  with  my 
very  dear  friends,  the  Graemes." 

As  she  rose  to  leave  the  room  a  servant  entered 
v,dth  lights  and  a  letter,  which   he  handed  to  her. 

"This  is  for  you,"  she  exclaimed,  "and  is  ad- 
dressed to  the  care  of  Captain  Delmay;  who  on 
earth   is  he?" 

Edward  gravely  shook  his  head,  as  he  took  the 
extended  packet.  "Another  mystery,"  said  he ;  "  per- 
chance the  letter  will  explain." 

He  hastily  opened  it.  A  small  slip  of  paper  fell 
out  on  the  floor.  He  picked  it  up  and  read  as 
follows :  "  My  much  WTonged  cousin :  Mr.  Alloway 
v/ill  tell  you  why  I  have  gone  away  without  seeing 
you,  in  obedience  to  my  brother's  request.  His 
letter,  novf  on    the    way   (if   you    have    not  already 


WOODBOUR^'^E.  135 

received  it),  will  explain  everything.  Tlie  enclosed 
document  rightfully  belongs  to  you.  The  past  can- 
not be  recalled;  I  trust  that  its  misdeeds  will  be 
atoned  by  the   future. 

"Ever   your   dutiful   cousin, 

*'  FREDERICK    MAKKnAil." 

He  turned  to  the  document.  It  was  Mr.  Austin's 
letter  to  Sir  William  Markham.  The  first  few  lines 
caused  his  heart  to  throb  tumultuously;  but  con- 
scious that  Mary  was  watching  him  closely,  he 
commanded  his  features  so  as  not  to  betray  a  hint 
of  its  contents  until  he  had  finished  reading  it. 
Then  he  heard  a  profound  sigh  of  relief  and  in  a 
voice  which  vibrated  with  a  depth  of  feeling  no 
words  could  express,  "You  may  read  it  for  yourself, 
darling,"  said  he,  giving  her  back  the  letter  and 
turning  away   to   conceal   his   emotion. 

"With  eager  eyes  Mary  rapidly  devoured  page  after 
page  of  the  closely-written  epistle.  It  was  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  sorrowful  tale  which  Carleton  had  nar- 
rated to  her  on  the  night  of  the  party;  the  missing 
link  of  a  broken  chain.  But  what  avail  was  it,  now 
that  the  rightful  heir  had  renounced  his  claim  to 
his  father's  hall. 

Here  the  interest  of  our  story  ends.  The  game  of 
hide  and  seek  has  been  played.  Xothing  remains 
for  us  to  do  but  to  make  our  congees  according  to 
custom  to  the  principal  characters  of  the  drama. 

In  less  than  a  month  they  were  married — were 
Captain  Edward  Conrad  Markham,  of  the  Conti- 
nental Army,  and  Miss  Mary  Littleton,  the  fair 
consummate  flower  of  Lowland  beauty.     The  wedding 


136  WOODBOURi^E. 

was  a  very  exclusive  affair  and  unattended  with  any 
of  the  pomp  and  circumstance  which  in  those  days 
almost  invariably  commemorated  such  joyous  events. 
A  good  reason  was  assigned  for  thus  violating  the 
ancient  usage,  which  was,  that  the  bridegroom  was 
in  duty  bound  to  report  Avithout  delay  at  the  head- 
quarters of  the  army  before  Boston.  The  invitations 
were  confined  to  the  Alloways  and  Graemes,  there 
was  very  short  commons  of  "cakes  and  ale,"  and  good 
parson  Smith  did  the  rest  for  the  happy  pair  in  con- 
formity with  the  sacramental  requirements  of  the 
Established  Church.  Mary  accompanied  her  husband 
as  far  as  Philadelphia  on  liis  way  to  join  the  army, 
and  having  consecrated  him  with  her  prayers  and 
tears  to  the  holy  cause  of  his  country,  returned  to 
Clifton.  Her  future  home  was  in  Maryland — a  beau- 
tiiful  villa  on  the  Severn  in  the  midst  of  that  en- 
chanting region  which  lies  around  Annapolis.  But 
she  was  not  destined  to  make  her  abode  there  for 
many  long  and  anxious  years.  It  was  a  painfully 
trying  situation  for  a  new-made  bride  to  be  placed  in, 
to  be  separated  from  her  husband  before  the  honey- 
moon had  waxed  and  waned;  but  it  was  her  delib- 
erate choice  after  duly  reflecting  upon  the  fatalities 
of  war.  She  therefore  bore  her  lot  with  cheerful 
equanimity,  wrote  the  most  tenderly  brave  and  en- 
couraging letters  by  every  post  to  her  young  soldier, 
and  occupied  herself  chiefly  with  assisting  Lucy 
Graeme,  who  was  making  preparations  for  her  own 
approaching  nuptials.  These  took  place  in  the  early 
part  of  April  and  was  projected  on  a  scale  of  mu- 
nificence which  made  ample  amends  for  the  previous 
public    disappointment.     The    neighbors,    young    and 


WOODBOURKE.  137 

old,  were   there,   and    each    guest  brought  with  him 
his   quota    of    hearty   fun    and   wholesome    mirth    to 
give    the    entertainment   the    genuine    flavor    of   old 
Virginia   hospitable    cheer.      The    "horse    company" 
graced   the  occasion  in  full  regimentals,  the  dashing 
cavalier  Carleton  shining  in  the  van.     But  the  to:ist 
of  the  whole  hilarious  party  was  our  weather-beaten 
old  friend,  Mike   Burke,  who  was   in   the   finest  pos- 
sible feathers,  and  fovored  the  company  with  an  end- 
less   supply    of   irresistibly   droll    humor,   interlarded 
with    comical     catches     and    grotesque    capers,    and 
drunk  the  bride's  health  and  the  bridegroom's  health 
and  everybod3^'s  health  in  large  jorams  of  rum  punch 
as   a  succedaneum  for  his  native  poteen,  such  as  no 
other    animal    in    the    world    could    have    stood    up 
under    but    such    another    "leathering    swash  of   an 
Irishman  "  under  like  inspiring  circumstance.     In  the 
language     of    the    Jenkins  of   the    time,    the    wed- 
ding was   a   most   enjoyable    affair.     Lucy  looked    as 
archly  charming  as  could  be,  and  sung  her  sweetest 
songs  more  divinely  than  ever  before,  and  Mr.  Eich- 
ard   Alloway  was  the   happiest  fellow  who  ever  heed- 
lessly ran   his  neck  into  the   fatal   noose,     Mr.   John 
Graeme  was  a  miserable  counterfeit  of  careless  indif- 
ference   in     giving    away    the    bride,    and    his    best 
attempt  at  wit  was   a  mal-apropos  quotation   of   the 
proverb,  which   says   a   man   may  woo  where   he  list, 
but   he    maun   wed   where    his  wind  is;    very  appo- 
site   when    applied    to    his    son-in-law    and    himself, 
seeing  that   neither   had  courted   but  one  woman  in 
his   life.     As    for    the   sweet    hostess,   her    heart  was 
really  too   full   for   utterance,  and  her  thoughts  were 
constantly  straying  far    away  to    her    absent  darling. 

12* 


138  WOODBOUENE. 

One  day  shortly  after  the  wedding,  came  a  long 
letter  from  George  Graeme  to  his  mother.  It  was 
written  from  Markham  Castle  and  cwitained  two 
matters  of  especial  interest.  He  had  left  college 
and  was  on  his  way  home  to  share  the  destinies  of 
his  countrymen.  The  rest  is  told  in  his  own 
words:  "On  yesterday  Sir  William  invited  me  to 
walk  with  him.  We  went  together  to  the  old  vault, 
in  which  the  remains  of  so  many  of  our  fixmily  are 
deposited.  There  was  an  addition,  and  entirely  new 
apartment,  in  which  was  a  beautiful  cenotaph  of  the 
purest  white  marble.  He  pointed  silently  to  it  and 
I  read  the  names,  with  what  emotion,  you  can 
imagine.  They  were  those  of  Sir  Henry  Markham 
and  his  wife,  Constance  Conrad.  And  now,  my 
dearest  mother,  the  supreme  wish  of  your  heart  has 
been  fulfilled,  and  may  your  evening  sky  grow 
brighter  and  brighter  with  the  smiles  of  love  and 
joy  and  peace  until  it  fades  in  the  light  of  eternal 
happiness." 


E2JD    OF    PART    II. 


If  the  reader  lias  not  discovered  in  the  closing  chapters  of 
this  narrative  a  commendable  illustration  of  the  art  of 
gradual  diminution — of  **  growing  to  a  point," — the  failure 
to  do  so  is  owing  entirely  to  his  want  of  critical  discernment. 
In  the  original  design  several  more  chapters  were  embraced, 
but,  remembering  that  it  is  not  good  husbandry  to  carry 
all  our  eggs  in  one  basket,  we  put  aside  a  budget  of  ma- 
terials for  the  sequel  we  have  in  contemplation.  Whether 
the  promise  of  such  a  work  will  ever  be  fulfilled  depends  upon 
the  reception  which  is  accorded  our  first  venture  in  the  over- 
crowded mart  of  fiction. 


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